


pick up the petals (and grow again)

by anteros (shua_hui)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Alternating, Pining Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shua_hui/pseuds/anteros
Summary: Harry takes one step forward, Malfoy takes one step back.Or, the one where Draco Malfoy trips down the stairs and Harry Potter gets ahold of too much firewhiskey and that’s how it all starts. Except it all started a long, long time ago.





	1. lightning

All Harry wanted was for Hogwarts to be exactly as it used to. A part of him wanted to run, to run so fast he’d find himself back in time. Despite the haunting past, and the painful future looming ahead, the present always seemed like the worst to deal with.

They were all still tormented by the war, and all Harry wanted were for things to go back to normal. Well, that was probably too much to ask for, and he hardly knew what normal meant anymore.

“Harry? Are you listening?” A hand waved frantically in front of his face, dizzying his once focused eyes and drawing them away from a mop of white blond on the Slytherin table.

His harshly chewed lips mumbled out a weak reply, “Yep.” It was obvious that Hermione realised Harry wasn’t paying much attention at all, and she quickly gave up on trying again to capture Harry’s attention, instead focusing on giving her boyfriend the lecture on taking their N.E.W.Ts seriously. It had been almost two months since they returned for an eighth year at Hogwarts to properly finish their education, and Harry often found himself caught up in his own thoughts, always having to reach for his mind and force it back into its own tired skull.

Harry only realised how intensely he must’ve been staring when Draco’s eyes suddenly flitted over to his direction, holding a swirl of uneasiness and surprise. The blond looked away so quickly Harry would’ve missed the initial glance if he hadn’t been observing so closely for so long.

Letting out a silent breath, Harry lowered his gaze and returned to his breakfast of thickly buttered hot toast and pan fresh bacon rashers. Not all of them had returned for Eighth Year, not all of them had _survived._ Harry winced at the thought, and then forced his head to empty itself from the horrific images. Many had lost loved ones and wanted no more of Hogwarts to serve as a raw, painful reminder. His eyes prickled as he thought of Professor Lupin and Fred, Dobby and Sirius. Others were forbidden out of fear by their parents, and others were disgraced by their families. Of the Slytherins, there was only Malfoy and two other girls who he didn’t seem to be friends with, or even be acquainted with.

Malfoy. In all honesty, Harry didn’t think that he, of all people, would be back. Malfoy was back, but he was only some placid ghost-like version of himself, and Harry hated it. Malfoy didn’t sneer or taunt or even talk anymore, all that was left were the occasional distant glances that vaporised the moment Harry caught them. There was some unspoken civility between the two of them, but it wasn’t comfortable at all. Maybe he missed the sense of ease that used to exist when he had time to be bothered about Malfoy’s childish antics. Besides, the dismal look in Draco’s eyes didn’t suit him one bit.

“I’m gonna get going to Potions first,” Harry pulled his heavy limbs out of his seat and gave Ron and Hermione, whose hands were clasped together over the table, a simple, forced smile. They nodded, and a familiar wave of sadness washed over Harry when he found his own sorrow reflected in his best friends’ eyes.

Hermione was in his Potions class too, but he often preferred walking alone, it gave him more time to think. And he didn’t have to feel guilty about mindlessly ignoring his friends. Plus, Hermione and Ron were better left alone together. Hermione knew how to comfort Ron with soft words that Harry sometimes privately took for himself, when he sat there brooding, and they thought that he probably hadn’t been listening.

Since Harry was early, the Potions classroom was deserted, and he took his usual seat at the table in the back corner of the room. He breathed in the comforting silence, running a finger along the cracked wooden desk from right to left then back, and again and again. It wasn’t long before another figure entered the room, and Harry twisted his head round to the door. It was Malfoy.

Malfoy took slow, relaxed steps towards Harry’s table and sat down. Opposite him. But as much as Harry stared, unknowingly, because Malfoy never showed recognition or discomfort, neither of them spoke a word to the other. In fact, Malfoy didn’t even acknowledge Harry’s existence. His eyes landed on anywhere but Harry; he stared at the desk, at the door, into space. Never Harry.

It had been like that since their first day back. In their first Potions class, Harry and Hermione had sat down together, and Parvati had joined them not long after. It seemed that the Eighth Year students had often bundled together in their classes, since they were now grouped up with the Seventh Years. Perhaps if he and Ginny hadn’t been avoiding each other, then her and Luna would’ve been sitting on his table instead. Instead of Malfoy. But no, Ginny had walked in and promptly tugged Luna away from Harry’s table, and across to the other side of the room. And it just so happened that Malfoy turned up marginally late for class. Harry still remembered the unnatural, flustered look on his face when he had glanced around the classroom, searching for a space. It was four to a table, Malfoy clearly knew none of the seventh years, and in what must have been an impulsive decision, Malfoy had hastily sat himself down next to Parvati, opposite Harry.

 _‘Are you just going to keep ignoring me?’_ Harry wanted to grumble out, but he held back, just like he did every time he came close to Malfoy. Instead, he settled with staring. Staring and staring and staring, he would stare at Malfoy until he couldn’t take it anymore, until he finally said something. He would stare him into oblivion. Or the opposite. Maybe he could stare Malfoy back to life. Somehow, Harry felt like something would happen if he just willed it strongly enough in his mind and with his concentrated vision. So far, in the past two months, Harry had been wrong.

Students began to filter into the classroom, yet Harry kept his eyes on Malfoy. On his pale, worn complexion and bright blond strands of hair, the ones that fell over his forehead and seemed to tangle with his fluttering eyelashes.

“Hi, Harry,” came a familiar, ethereal voice. Finally, Harry unlatched his attention from the boy in front of him and found Luna smiling at him from across the room, next to Ginny. Harry muttered back a polite greeting and hurriedly turned away.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice descended on his other side, and he looked over to give her a smile. “Don’t you think you ought to have talked to Ginny by now?” Harry’s parted lips looked like he wanted to object. He was mildly aware of Malfoy’s attention from across the table. “I know it’s not my business what actually goes on between you two, but as your friend, _and_ Ginny’s friend, I think you ought to at least give her some sort of closure, as it seems to be going down that route,” she explained with that familiar, expressive tone of voice. The corners of Harry’s lips lifted at the thought of Hermione’s way of speaking to be something that would always remain. “Why are you smiling?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head lightly, “and I will talk to her. Just not… Just not right now.”

When Harry turned to face Professor Slughorn who had finally arrived to begin the class, he failed to catch Malfoy’s gaze yet again, despite knowing, quite surely, that Malfoy had been looking at him just moments before.

 

After spending the lesson concocting a Blood-Replenishing Potion, in which Hermione had become increasingly annoyed by Malfoy’s natural talents, whilst Harry’s irritation was stemmed more from Malfoy’s strange unwillingness to brag, Harry headed down to Herbology with Hermione. Fortunately, Ginny didn’t take Herbology, but neither did Malfoy.

As they strolled down the corridors, Harry once again had to avoid the gawking among the crowds of students. First years, second years, every single student seemed to be watching Harry every time he found himself in even a mildly public place. This unpleasant phenomenon had begun when they first came back to Hogwarts, and astonishingly, its effect had hardly diminished in the past two months. It was like people didn’t get tired of his dull green eyes and dark nest of hair like he did himself every time he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Not to mention, that scar.

 

“Ginny.” It had been a week since Hermione had reminded Harry to talk to her, and it just so happened that Ginny was at the top of the flight of stairs Harry was heading up, coming down. There was no avoiding it now. Harry ran up the steps, two at a time, trying to think of a regular way to start the conversation. It was kind of an awkward situation. Harry had broken up with her at the end of Sixth Year, with the explanation that he had important things to do on his own, and she had understood. But since the war ended, things didn’t just _unpause_ , Harry didn’t know how it was possible to just go back like that. And as much as Harry felt guilty to admit it, that wasn’t the only reason. He no longer saw clusters of stars in her eyes, no longer thought about the striking, warm shade of her ginger hair, or even the flowery scent she carried so lightly in the air around her. And he wasn’t sure if he ever truly did. He supposed this was something that Ginny wouldn’t understand if he didn’t explain. He owed it to her.

“Ginny,” he repeated, letting out a nervous breath. She was watching him tensely, her body stiff, but still, there was tenderness in her eyes and Harry appreciated that. “I uh, I realised that we should probably… talk.” He finished the sentence awkwardly, feeling like stating the obvious was making him seem incredibly stupid, and therefore increasingly less ready to say what he had to say.

Her lips folded into a small frown. “I know what you’re going to say. It just would’ve been nicer to hear from you sooner,” she said honestly.

A pang of guilt struck Harry in the chest as he remained a step below her on the staircase. “You do?”

“I can see the pity in your face, and really, I don’t need it.” Ginny’s words seemed blunt, like an unsharpened spear grinding into Harry’s heart, but she let out a soft sigh. “If you still wanted… us, you would’ve said so, ages ago. I’ve been avoiding you because I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Honestly, I’m past it.”

“Really?” Harry felt relief settle inside him, but he wanted to make sure, with absolute certainty, that Ginny was okay with it.

Finally, she smiled. And Harry smiled too, his teeth releasing his bottom lip from its grip. “Just promise me that you’ll find someone who makes you happy.” Her voice was so low now that it came out as a whisper, and then they both let out a tiny snort at how cliché the words were. Instead of a reply, Harry simply wrapped both arms around her, and let himself sink into the peaceful warmth. “And that we’ll stay friends,” she added, neither letting go of their comforting embrace.

“Of course,” Harry promised, patting her hair. “Of course we- I can’t believe you had to ask that,” he grinned bitterly into her hair, “Who was it that I rescued so desperately from the Chamber of Secrets? Who was it that made a brilliant seeker for the Gryffindor team while I was banned? Who was it that lead Dumbledore’s Army when I was away?” He felt her smile against his shoulder, her head dipped low. “Even though we aren’t… together, anymore, you’ll always be special to me Ginny.” And suddenly, Harry felt like he was going to cry. Not just with the memories surging through his heavy mind, but to realise that this was truly another end to something… Perhaps that was why it had taken him so long to talk to Ginny. Harry pressed his tears away with a heavy blink. 

Just before he was about to pull away, the sound of regal, yet quiet steps ascended the staircase, and Harry lifted his head from Ginny’s shoulder to watch as Draco Malfoy passed the pair of them without even a sign of acknowledgment.

Harry lurched himself away from Ginny, eyes fixed on Draco’s rapidly disappearing figure. “So I’ll see you later then,” the words spilled from his lips in a rush, and Ginny looked rather startled for a moment. “I mean,” his attention was still darting from Ginny to Draco and back repetitively. “I’ve got Transfiguration, and lunch is about to end so-”

She smiled understandingly, gave Harry an assuring pat on the shoulder and shifted past him down the stairs. Without a second thought, Harry made a hurried dash to catch up with Malfoy. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but they were in the same Transfiguration class so there wasn’t really a reason not to walk behind Malfoy and… stay three paces behind him the entire time.

Strangely, Malfoy was taking a detour, probably well aware of Harry behind him. Still, like always, he didn’t say anything, and Harry was stuck once again trying to wonder what was going to induce the familiar drawl he hadn’t heard in what seemed like a long, long time. _‘What are you doing behind me, Potter?’_ Malfoy could scowl at Harry with resentment, and Harry could smoothly reply, _‘going to Transfiguration, obviously.’_ Except he couldn’t, because Malfoy didn’t say anything the entire journey to classroom 1B. Screw him.

 

“You did what, mate?” Ron asked between large mouthfuls of his roasted chicken drumstick, face instilled with shock and horror. Harry hadn’t expected Ron to look so… displeased about the situation, so he could barely find his voice for a moment. A wave of guilt sank through him yet again.

Luckily, Hermione answered for him. “Broke up with Ginny officially, _finally_ ,” she emphasised at the end even though Ron turned to face her with an utterly scandalised expression. She went on. “Harry did the right thing, Ron! It’s not right to lead people on like he was doing for the past few months.” Another stab of guilt.

Ron chewed down his mouthful and took a large swig of pumpkin juice, before finally speaking. “I mean, okay, yeah, good on you mate, getting things together and all. But like, bloody hell, I just always thought- Well, when you were going out with my sister I guess I realised that there wasn’t anyone else better out there. If anyone deserved to be with her, it would be you mate.”

The honesty and respect in Ron’s words pushed a smile onto Harry’s lips, whose eyes widened just a little in pleasant surprise. “Thanks,” Harry responded, eyes flitting between Ron and Hermione, who was staring at Ron tenderly. “And sorry too,” he added a little quieter, poking the potatoes on his plate with his fork.

Before Ron could respond, the three of them spotted Ginny heading down the Gryffindor table, sporting an overly large grin. “Hey guys,” she beamed, swooping down onto the seat right next to Harry. “I’m starving, Quidditch practice ran over, our new keeper is a _disaster_ , I mean no offense, they’re only a third year, but it’s tough without you two,” she rambled a little unnaturally, and poured a whole load of hot chips onto her plate before digging in eagerly.

Ginny’s arrival (she was still fully clad in her Quidditch uniform, strands of her fiery ginger hair clinging to her face from the sweat) reminded Harry of the longing that he had to play Quidditch competitively again. The Eighth Years were no longer allowed to be on the formal house teams, so that meant if Harry wanted to play, he’d only have lunch times and free periods, which were highly inconvenient to gather enough people to from two teams. Mostly, opportunities arose during the weekend. Still, it wasn’t the same. He really, really missed it. He missed the wind blowing through his hair, he missed the feeling of streaking so close to the sky, swooping up and down so intensely that his stomach would squeeze and twist and flip, hearing the crowd’s blazing roars in the background. He wanted it back.

“Hermione, Harry!” Parvati’s frantic voice cut into Ginny’s elaborate explanation of the new team formation. The four of them all looked up to see Parvati’s troubled expression, her lips twisting apologetically. “I wanted to ask for a favour,” she began.

Hermione’s expression told her to go on, and Harry had put down his cutlery to listen carefully too. “Well, I- it’s about Potions class.” The image of a tall, blond figure instantly ran through Harry’s mind, but he shook it away. Parvati was fumbling with her fingers now, and she plonked herself down next to Ron. “I didn’t want to ask this but, would it be okay if we switched Potions partners? I mean, if I could partner with Hermione instead, and Harry if you could go with Malfoy… I just! He doesn’t speak, I mean sure he’s smart, but he always seems so irritable, and well, scary. I really didn’t want to make a fuss but I already tried bearing with it for two months, and it’s not really working out…”

Harry had pretty much stopped listening at the mention of Malfoy’s name. Potions partners with Malfoy? That would give Harry a chance to speak with him, finally. Not that he was sure why he needed so desperately to talk to Malfoy, but Harry couldn’t help squirming at the thought of how smoothly things just fell into place.

“Put Harry with _Malfoy?_ ” Ron’s eyes bulged out of its sockets, his tone incredulous. Even Hermione looked concerned. “You’ll end up getting blown up from across the table I’m sure, those two wouldn’t last three seconds next to each other before one gets put in the hospital wing and the other in McGonagall’s offi-”

“It’s fine,” Harry interrupted, and turned to Parvati politely, “we can switch seats starting from our next Potions lesson if you’d like.”

Her eyes sparkled with gratitude, whilst Ron, Hermione and Ginny all rocked their heads forward in disbelief, eyebrows raised in synchrony. “Thank you, Harry!” Parvati gave a smile to Hermione too, who managed to pause her expression of shock at Harry and return the smile before Parvati skipped out of the Great Hall contentedly.

“So you’re really taking this civil and toned down front that Malfoy’s got going seriously? You don’t think he’ll try something?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, “Malfoy has barely spoken to me this entire year,” he reminded him with slight bitterness. “Also, you seem to have forgotten that Malfoy’s bed happens to be right next to mine, and that no, despite your adamant accusations, he hasn’t once tried to attack me in my sleep.”

Ron slowly sank back into his chair slowly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully. “Well we’ll be ready for it when he does try something,” he grumbled under his breath.

Shaking his head with a hint of amusement, Harry closed up into his own thoughts again. It wasn’t like Malfoy had strategically picked the bed next to his or anything. In fact, Harry was the one who chose the bed next to Malfoy’s. It had happened their first day back, when the Eighth Years were settling into their new common room and dormitories, and him and Ron had run up to claim their beds a little late. The spaces were all chosen, and Malfoy had opted for the corner, furthest from the door and everyone else. Clearly, all the other boys had also chosen to steer clear of Malfoy, so the two remaining beds were the one next to Malfoy, and the one next to that. Knowing that Ron would most definitely complain if he had to sleep in such close proximity to Malfoy every night, Harry had decided, as what he deemed a heroic act, to sacrifice himself and take up the unwanted bed next to Malfoy’s.

“When do we next have Potions, Hermione?” Harry asked, when Ginny and Ron had resumed their conversation on the new Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“Tomorrow morning,” she gave him a pitying expression, but he replied with a smile instead.

 

When sleep in its usual form of haunted cries and green light drifted away from Harry the next morning, his eyes shifted open blearily to stare blankly at his neighbouring bed. Malfoy had already gotten out of bed. Just like usual. Harry always saw Malfoy fall asleep, with his back turned to Harry and his long limbs tucked close to himself, but he never ever saw Malfoy in the morning. He was always gone by the time Harry opened his eyes. One time, Harry thought he saw a mess of white blond dipped between the bed sheets when he first awoke, but by the time his vision cleared, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

 

Harry was strangely excited for Potions, he had been since Parvati requested the favour of swapping partners. He just desperately wanted to see the look that was going to be scrawled over Malfoy’s sharp, irritated face.

And there he was. Slouched in his usual seat, entirely unsuspecting as Harry strolled into class with Hermione and Parvati right behind him. Moving swiftly, Harry took large strides past his own seat and towards the one next to Malfoy. He felt the blond tense up, but still he made no effort to look or say anything. The two girls took their seats opposite, and it only took Draco a glance at the two to confirm his suspicions. Harry confidently pulled the stool out and plonked himself down.

“Change of partners, Malfoy,” he said. Finally. His first words to Malfoy in what felt like an eternity. Harry delivered them like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding in for a long, long time. And then, with a motion that caused Harry’s chest to swell, Malfoy tilted his head to the left, and Harry finally caught his grey eyes.

“Right,” Malfoy’s drawl ended as soon as it began, and Harry’s frustration kicked in again the moment Malfoy turned his head away, looking like he was so bored, with his left cheek caged in his hand and an expression so bland, Harry thought he might have imagined their interaction just now. Wasn’t Malfoy going to ask why they were partners now? _‘Right’_? Was that really the only thing he had to say? Couldn’t he have thrown in a scornful ‘Potter’ at the very least?

Harry didn’t really like this new Draco Malfoy at all.

Professor Slughorn had instructed them to brew Draught of Peace, something that Harry remembered failing tremendously at during fifth year. So it clearly wasn’t going to go any better when his partner refused to speak to him. They only worked in pairs when brewing advanced potions, with many ingredients that were limited and irritatingly specific instructions. Harry honestly had no idea how he and Malfoy were ever going to get through it all. Malfoy had already walked off silently, and only by observing him closely did Harry realise he had gone to fetch the ingredients. So now he was left waiting by the table, looking like an idiot.

Halfway through glaring at Malfoy’s back while he was crouched over a particular shelf still searching for ingredients, Harry caught Ginny’s eye at the desk on the opposite side of the room. She looked a little surprised when their eyes locked, but Harry gave her a firm smile. She returned it, just barely.

“Don’t touch anything, Potter,” Malfoy snarled as emotionlessly as he could when Harry began to grab at the ingredients upon his return. Harry dropped all his attention from the worktable in front of him and everything on it, instead focusing on Malfoy and his words and his lips, the way he said Potter. Harry was waiting for his next remark, hopefully something witty and scathing. But Malfoy didn’t say anything else. No irritating quip on Harry’s apparent lacking Potions skills. Nothing.

“Oops,” Harry let out dramatically, halfway between brewing what would’ve been a perfect potion otherwise, “looks like I accidentally added a bit too much powdered unicorn horn.” He snuck a look at Malfoy. Malfoy was seething, almost as much as the boiling potion in front of them, which turned a muddy shade of orange rather than the desired pink. Without saying anything, Draco took control over their cauldron again as Harry watched the snarl on his face for signs of movement, something that indicated he was going to talk.

“Aren’t you mad?” Harry asked with a hint of frustration, stood off to the side and burning an uncontrollable glare into Malfoy’s back.

There was a pause, and Malfoy stopped stirring for a moment, as if to digest the question, “…Yes Potter, I’m fucking mad.” And Harry decided that he must be the one who’s mad, as in insane, because that familiar spark of irritation in Malfoy’s voice, no matter how suppressed, peeled Harry’s gloominess away immediately.

 

Draco was still puzzling over Potter’s behaviour by the end of third period. What the fuck was up with Potter? He must have been in a scarily good mood, since when did he start joking around like that? Potter _hated_ him. He was so lost in his thoughts hurrying down the stairs, that he missed a step and embarrassingly tumbled forwards.

“Fuck!” He cursed, knocking into a sturdy figure who caught him by the waist. Draco momentarily came to the realisation that the stranger’s arms were wrapped much too tightly and intimately around himself, a hand even resting on the small of his back.

“Malfoy?” The sound of Weasley’s voice made Draco jump, yanking himself out of the arms of his saviour. _Potter_. Just his bloody luck. Potter was blinking rapidly, his dark hair an outrageous mess. Draco’s cheeks turned even pinker. He averted his gaze from Potter’s bright green eyes to Weasley, who was scowling next to him.

Heart throbbing, Draco scrambled to pick up his dropped pile of books and hurried past, knocking into Potter’s shoulder as he did so, ignoring the tingling warmth on his body where Potter’s hands had been.

 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Ron let himself down onto the floor and shuffled closer towards Harry. He was huddled next to the fireplace in their Eighth Year common room with his legs tucked close to his torso and his arms wrapped around his knees. It was actually a spot he visited often when he wanted to think, _needed_ to think. Something about the toasty heat and golden flickers of light made it safe to think cold, grey thoughts in his head. If there was fire around him, he could afford to let it rain inside him. This time however, he didn’t have Fred or Dobby or Sirius in his head. He had Malfoy. Considering his icy demeanour, Malfoy should’ve been a bitter thought, but he wasn’t. He just wasn’t.

“He’s been like that since Potions this morning,” another voice joined them, and Harry didn’t need to look up to know that it was Hermione.

“Hey guys,” he smiled, brushing off their comments about his mood as he tucked his legs to the side for Hermione to sit down. However, the looks on their faces seemed to indicate an unwavering curiosity as to why Harry wasn’t so dreary during the day. “Stop looking at me with such expectant faces.” The last conversation Harry needed to have with his friends was why Malfoy’s attention seemed to lift his spirits.

“It’s just nice to see you look less like the living dead, Harry,” Hermione placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, and he smiled a little wider.

“The same goes for you two,” he replied honestly.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, gesturing to the book in Harry’s hand.

Harry cracked a smile, “It’s Draco’s Potions textbook. He dropped it earlier. When he fell down the stairs.”

“And you haven’t returned it to him because...”

“I will. I just haven’t had the chance yet.” Harry hadn’t seen Draco since the incident, apart from in the Great Hall at dinner. Draco had appeared so flustered when he pushed Harry away, it was almost funny.

Ron spoke up again, “Oh right, Seamus and Dean have a couple bottles of firewhiskey to share and I was gonna ask if you wanted to join. Pretty much everyone’s up for getting wasted.” Harry nodded, getting up from the floor.

Soon, most of the Eighth Year students, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even the two Slytherin girls were sprawled in a messy circle on the common room floor. Harry was sat between Neville, who was drunkenly leaning on Harry, and Ron, who wasn’t paying much attention to the group conversation at all due to a preoccupation with whispering into Hermione’s flushed ear and squeezing her hand softly.

“And yeah, McGonagall was fucking furious, and it was awfully embarrassing as well,” Seamus pressed a hand to the side of his flushed face as a memory of the story he was telling came to mind, “But well, probably worth the week’s detentions I got, I guess.” He finished with a lazy grin, adjusting his position so that his elbows propped him up a little higher from the carpeted floor than before.

Anthony Goldstein from across the circle let out an impressed laugh, “You really don’t care about the rules anymore do you?” As Eighth Years, they found that they often got away with a lot more than the other years, sometimes even treated like they weren’t official students. Still, they didn’t choose to abuse that opportunity. Not often, anyway.

“I almost died last year, and so did the rest of us- If I want something, I’m gonna get it. Not cause I think nearly dying is cause for special treatment, but just realising that someday it might be too late to do some things, have some things. We deserve to go after what we want. We deserve normality,” he rambled in a strangely coherent and philosophical manner, despite the level of intoxication he was experiencing.

Harry took in those words slowly and carefully, his mind was already hazy from the firewhiskey, and trying to process such profound messages wasn’t helping clear his head. Something about deserving to get what one wanted. What did Harry want? He wanted… Well, he wanted simplicity. And innocence. He didn’t like the mind that was marred with the images of Voldemort, damaged by memories of loved ones who had died right in front of his eyes. His head hurt.

“Harry,” Neville’s sleepy yet determined voice caught Harry’s attention. “I hope you get what you want, you deserve it. Lots,” Neville’s voice seemed to slip towards the end, voice descending into a series of incoherent mumbles, but Harry smiled at him earnestly.

“I think I’ll call it a night guys,” Harry turned to the rest of the group, gently easing Neville off himself, “My head hurts like hell,” he added as coherently as possible, which in fact wasn’t very coherent at all. There were slurred, synchronised ‘awww’s as Harry got up unsteadily, wobbling his way to the stairs leading to the boys’ dorm. No one else seemed to think they needed to sleep yet, so Harry wandered up the stairs alone.

When Harry shoved open the door to the dorm, he spotted a single figure sat up in his bed in the corner of the room, seemingly absorbed in a book. A figure who made no sign of acknowledgment to Harry’s arrival. A figure whose blond hair seemed to be illuminated by the glowing moon hanging outside the window.

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Harry stormed towards their beds as well as he could, though he was sure he must have stumbled stupidly into a few obstacles on the way. His voice was full of intent, despite his lack of awareness and direction as to where exactly this was going. “Malfoy,” he repeated, this time louder, when Malfoy didn’t seem to have paid him enough attention. Apparently a glance and a curious tilt of the head wasn’t enough for Harry.

“Nice to see that you know how to keep it classy when you’re drunk, Potter.” A snarky comment. Good. But it wasn’t enough.

“What you reading there, Malfoy? Some dumb book- is it interesting?” Harry rambled stupidly.

Draco didn’t know how to respond to that one. But he stood, rising out of his bed to face a drunken Potter.

Potter seemed to be spurred on by some surge of sudden courage inside him, he took another step forward and grabbed Draco by his shirt, fisting it and pulling the Slytherin towards himself. “Malfoy,” he repeated, shouting into his face. Draco leaned back a little. “Are you dead?” His voice came out quieter this time, almost as a whisper, as if asking Draco to tell him a secret, but the ridiculousness of the question made it sound just as bold.

“Huh?” Draco’s eyes dropped low to search for the expression on Potter’s face, as he was staring intently at Malfoy’s chest. “Potter-”

“You don’t even talk anymore,” Potter continued in that quiet, defeated voice. If it hadn’t been so quiet, Draco might not have heard him. And so, even though Draco did indeed hear those words, he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t just imagined them. The underlying meaning, the request, the hope and the sadness weaved into Potter’s tone of voice; Potter wanted Draco to talk to him. But that couldn’t be right. Draco couldn’t bring himself to utter a reply, he was still debating the possibility that he had misheard, or imagined the entire moment.

But he had quite surely watched those words leave Potter’s lips, the lips that he’d stolen glances at over the years, the ones he’d guiltily thought about over and over again. And of all the fantasies that Draco had explored, the one happening now had never, ever even crossed his mind. A fantasy where Harry’s lips weren’t pressed against Draco’s skin, but whispering words that might’ve seemed normal if uttered in simply a different tone, or at a different moment, or to a different person. But _this_.

“Why don’t you talk anymore?” Harry’s voice rose again in frustration, snapping Draco out of his thoughts.

Draco cleared his throat and took a breath, “I’m very much alive, thank you,” he answered, purposely ignoring the other question. Potter was still gripping his shirt and shaking him wildly, so Draco grabbed Potter’s forearms and pushed him away harshly. He couldn’t just give in like that and make a fool of himself.

“Are you, though?” The way Potter’s voice came out caused Draco to freeze instantly. It was broken. And so, so vulnerable. Fuck. Why the hell was Potter doing this all of a sudden? Acting so strange, as if he cared about Draco, as if he thought of Draco as much as Draco thought of him.

“Stop it, Potter,” Draco whispered out weakly, though full of irritation and almost anger. And he did. Potter did stop saying awful, confusing things, but then he moved. Draco froze. Potter was closing the narrow gap between them, coming so close that Draco wasn’t sure if he was still breathing anymore. His heart was beating so fast in the silent blackness of the night, the wild palpitations and rapid pulses were bursting so loudly in his ear, he was so sure that Potter could hear it too. “What are you doing?” Draco breathed out, feeling unable to keep his composure. Potter had one hand clasped tightly over Draco’s wrist, and the side of his head was pressed against Draco’s chest.

“Shhh,” Potter hushed, his other hand wrapping around Draco to press steadily against his back. “I’m checking if you’re alive,” he whispered as if the answer was obvious. Draco’s expression crinkled in confusion for a second, and then, oh. Oh. Potter was checking for his pulse, his heartbeat. The one that was hammering against his chest at record speed. Shit. Draco shoved Potter away with full force, who barely steadied himself by holding on still, with one hand.

“Malfoy!”

Draco had no space to back away, “What do you want, Potter?” He wasn’t sure if he really did want him to answer that one.

“Why are you being civil? Why aren’t you trying to piss me off anymore?”

After a long moment of silence, Draco finally spoke up. “…Are you fucking shitting me?” His voice was pulled by fire, the rage apparent in its rough tone. “You’re saying you preferred it when I was- I was- I was awful to your best friends, I said disgusting things about you and your parents, I- I even-” Malfoy winced, recalling the horrid things he’d done over the years. He couldn’t comprehend Harry’s logic at all, and he threw his hands wildly to his hair, scrunching and raking with frustration. 

“And here I was thinking that you, the saviour, would appreciate some fucking peace. Forget it Potter, things are different now. You’re mad if you’re asking why I’m not giving you shit anymore. I held allegiance to the ones who wanted you killed, and you saved my life. I’m not about to go making a new batch of ‘Potter stinks’ badges am I?”

Harry stood there, stunned, and Draco had no idea whether Harry had understood any of that in his drunken state, but he both hoped he had and hadn’t. He never meant to have any kind of emotional outburst in front of Potter, it was fucking embarrassing. Finally, Harry, with his voice suddenly soft and sensible, responded, “Yeah, you went too far sometimes. And I really did fucking hate you for that- But the rest, that’s okay- I’d rather have those badges to worry about than think about everyone that- everyone that’s been lost.”

Draco felt his tongue tie in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, he jerked out of Potter’s grip, shoving him backwards and sending him toppling onto his own bed. He stood for a moment, frozen, unable to think or speak, only managing to stare at the figure beneath him. Harry fucking Potter. Why was he always so much trouble for Draco?

Hastily, Draco draped Potter’s blanket over his exhausted figure, ignoring the small, indignant cry of ‘Malfoy’ before climbing back into his own bed in a hurry. “Get some sleep Potter, you need it,” he grumbled out before flipping onto his side to face the wall, and not Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 1 is rough i swear it gets better like drunk harry's being weird but i promise i go into it later he just doesn't know what he's feeling rn  
> somewhat  
> it took like 5 months to write this fic and it's gone through so many scene re-writes, deletions and additions it's just a mess but like what the heck it's a fanfic at the end of the day and im barely a writer i gotta go lie down


	2. thunder

Harry awoke with a thumping headache. His entire head felt like a rock, and there was a winter shiver crawling down from his shoulders to his arms, so he buried himself further into his warm cotton covers, groaning groggily. Both fists came up to rub at his bleary eyes as he tried to blink the heavy sleepiness away. As Harry’s eyes unblurred, a distinct colour penetrated his vision. A colour he’d never seen before first thing in the morning, the same one he seemed to search for when he trailed down corridors or sat at the Great Hall. Glowing white blond. Forcing his eyes open properly, Harry observed a hunched over figure sat on the bed, a hand running through a head of white gold.

“Malfoy?” He croaked out instinctively. There was no reply, and when Harry blinked again, the figure was already gone.

 

“You do _not_ look okay, mate,” Ron was standing over Harry, who was now lying weakly on the sofa of the eighth year common room. “Why did you drink so much when it’s not even the weekend?”

Harry groaned, obviously regretting his own decisions, and turned over to wedge his face in the warm crevice of the sofa. “Ron, I’ve got Charms in an hour, can’t you let me rest for my only free period of the day so I can actually pretend to be alert for class?”

There was no reply, except a grunt and then a mumble about going to work on an essay, and then Harry felt a heavy softness thrown over him. That made the third layer of blankets that he was now piled under comfortably. November was rapidly steering towards a harsh winter, and the fireplace simply wasn’t enough on a particularly chilly morning like today. Harry felt ill. What’s worse, was that Harry had certain flashbacks from last night streaking through his already worn out mind. He’d like to think that they were just nightmares. But they weren’t. He just knew that they weren’t.

What was he supposed to do when he saw Malfoy now? At least he didn’t have Potions until tomorrow. But that was just fucking stupid of him. What even- What propelled him, possessed him even, to go and shout such ridiculous things at Malfoy? He wasn’t even sure if the things he said made any sense at all.

 

There was nothing but utter silence between Harry and Malfoy during Potions the next day. Harry had actively tried to avoid him before that, and then switched tactics halfway through where instead he tried to catch Malfoy’s eye any time he was in the vicinity as an attempt to reverse the awkwardness. Now he realised he had probably made it worse.

He supposed this was better, maybe. He didn’t feel embarrassed because Malfoy didn’t laugh at him. Malfoy refused to react to him these days, it seemed like. But one thing bothered Harry: was Malfoy actually ignoring him or was he just being silent because he felt awkward about the situation too? Harry wasn’t sure which one was more likely or even which was worse.

Just as Harry was adding a few drops of honeywater to his cauldron, a couple of seventh years passed behind him to get to the storage shelves, “What’s up with Ginny Weasley these days?” One of the voices whispered, and it took Harry all his effort not to spin around and ask what exactly was wrong with Ginny. Instead, he jerked his head up to search for Ginny from across the classroom. There she was. And the dismal look in her eyes, the lifeless aura, it shocked Harry. He hadn’t seen her around for the past week, so he had no idea she seemed so down. In fact, why hadn’t he seen Ginny the entire week? Usually, he saw her at least once a day.

“What’s wrong with Ginny?” He asked in a low voice, when he caught Hermione watching curiously from opposite the desk.

She gave an exasperated sigh, “Oh honestly, Harry. Sometimes I think you’re just as bad as Ron.” Harry quizzically raised an eyebrow at that, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about your obliviousness to other people’s feelings!”

“Huh?” Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Hermione was referring to. What he was sure of though, was that Malfoy had most certainly, definitely glanced over. It was only for a millisecond, maybe even less, but Harry caught the look in his peripheral vision for sure.

“You’re asking why Ginny’s upset!” Hermione stressed, through gritted teeth. “You broke up with her, Harry! Does that ring a bell for you?” Harry’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, what did that even have to do with anything- _Oh._

Malfoy’s eyes, unable to resist, flickered over again as Harry’s fingers knocked over a bag of seeds, “But she said she was okay with it!” He whispered back across the table. Again, it didn’t mean that there wasn’t sadness in separation- there always was. But at the time, Ginny handled it so well, Harry almost forgot about the entire thing. He’d had other things on his mind since then, or more specifically, stupid Draco Malfoy. He instinctively glanced up to glare at Malfoy, only to be astonished by Malfoy’s eyes staring widely at him. Both of them looked away instantly, and Harry went back to clumsily shoving the seeds he’d spilled back into the cloth bag.

“Frankly, Harry, I think she’s been avoiding you,” Hermione commented perceptively as her hand continued to stir at her cauldron, “Which I suppose means that no, she’s not okay with it.” Harry looked up guiltily, biting down on his lip causing Hermione to let out another sigh. “I’m not scolding you Harry, I’m just telling you. We all know you did the right thing, but perhaps you weren’t sensitive enough when you handled it?” She suggested, her voice subdued into a whisper despite the expressive tone she always used.

“I was being very sensitive!” Harry exclaimed defensively, “I-“ He stiffened when he remembered the moment, remembered Malfoy passing by the pair of them, Malfoy who was probably listening to this very conversation right now. “I handled it fine,” he finished, feeling a little self-conscious.

Hermione sighed again, “Well I hope things work out before Christmas.” Harry raised a questioning eyebrow. “So that things won’t be awkward at The Burrow!”

“Oh. Right.” Truthfully, Harry hadn’t even thought about Christmas, or more specifically, where he would be spending it. Usually, he’d be more than happy to spend it with the Weasleys, immersed in the crackling warmth of family and fire, and the glorious scent of Christmas cookies, but this year, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t figure it out exactly, but a part of him wanted to get away. To be alone and just have some time to himself.

 

“Oi, Harry,” Ron came pounding through the dorm door just as Harry was unfolding the Marauders Map as he sat tucked into bed at an early hour. His fingers immediately stopped at the sight of his best friend. “Wow, who are you stalking now then?” He emerged from the entrance and came to sit on his own bed, next to Harry’s.

“I’m not stalking anyone,” he grumbled, folding the map back up. Harry had originally decided to look for Malfoy, and then maybe consider confronting him, because heck, he didn’t know how to stop being so embarrassing and awkward in front of him.

Ron gave him a sceptical look, but didn’t push further, “Well I came up to ask if you’re coming down to the common room to chat. There’s hardly anyone down there, just me and Hermione and a couple of others. Blimey, barely anyone came back did they?”

“Well, Hogwarts is different now, isn’t it?” Harry sat up on his bed, shuffling against the headboard. “You can’t really blame them, this place is- Well, it gives more hurt than joy now I think,” he finished, his voice gone low. Ron didn’t say anything, only sat with his hands on his knees, facing downward as if in thought.

“Yeah… So are you coming or not?” He finally asked again after a lengthy silence, getting up from the bed.

Harry hesitated before replying, “Er, is Malfoy there?” He asked, hoping desperately he didn’t sound weird- Well, the question in itself was a little weird when Harry was the one asking it, but maybe Ron wouldn’t pick up on it. Or, he maybe would.

“So it’s Malfoy you’re stalking then, huh? This isn’t Sixth Year all over again, is it?” He teased jokingly, but Harry reacted a little strongly with his deep set frown and wide eyes. “I’m only kidding- I mean, unless- Has he done something again? Is he up to something?” Ron sank back down onto his bed, somewhat prepared to listen to all of Harry’s theories about Malfoy’s diabolical plans.

What he wasn’t prepared to listen to, was Harry’s reply, “Actually Ron, I was the one who did something.” Harry ducked his head when Ron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “I mean, I didn’t do anything- I said, well, remember that night we got pretty drunk and I went up early?” Ron nodded surely, wide eyes prompting Harry to go on. “Well, Malfoy was the only one in the dorm, and I uh, I said some weird things. So now he’s ignoring me and I feel kind of awkward,” he admitted, glad to finally get that off his chest.

“Well, what did you say?” Ron asked, confused as to why the most important part of the story had been omitted. 

Harry’s lips twisted in discomfort, “Well I don’t remember it all exactly, but it was- well, it was weird. He definitely hates me for it.”

“I think as long as you didn’t confess some kind of undying love for him, you should be fine,” Ron joked, laughing. And then he blanched because Harry sat frozen, as if admitting to the guilt. “No way- Harry mate, you didn’t! You’re not-”

“Of course I didn’t!” Harry snapped, “It wasn’t like that.” Except, now that he thought about it… It did seem a little like a confession. But not a love confession! Of course not. Harry shuddered, he hated thinking about it. It seemed like every time he remembered the scene, something new and more horrifically embarrassing sprang to mind. He was never drinking that much again. At least, not in the presence of Malfoy.

“Er, okay then,” Ron started to get up again.

Harry paused, contemplating whether to say what was burning at the tip of his tongue, and then deciding to just fuck it, “Ron, I think I’m worried about Malfoy.”

“Huh?” Ron wondered for a moment if he’d entirely misheard the sentence, but it was quite a simple one, and the fact that Malfoy had often been the topic of conversation between them across the years made Ron quite sure that Harry had indeed said what he’d thought he had. No matter how strange it was. Before he could begin to form an answer, Harry jumped in to elaborate, having realised possibly how unusual it sounded.

“I mean, he’s just like us, you know? Maybe he started off on the other side of the war, but,” Harry’s voice came out a little frantic, as if desperate for Ron to understand, desperate to be assured that these feelings weren’t abnormal. “He was never… _evil_. He got roped in with bad shit that he didn’t even understand. And none of his friends came back. Not Goyle, not Blaise, not Pansy… Hell, he even lost Crabbe. He’s alone. And he’s hurt. I don’t know, I think part of me is trying to reach out to him,” he expressed with sudden clarity.

Ron ran a hand through the back of his head uncertainly, “I mean I get what you’re saying, but blimey Harry, don’t you think we’ve come too far? There’s too much stuff in the past. He’d flip if he knew you were worried about him. Sure, he’s not Voldemort, but he was a bully. I appreciate him not being such an arse nowadays, but that doesn’t change the past.”

Harry bit down on his lower lip, watching Ron casually drape an arm around a bed post. “I just think he deserves a chance. No one even talks to him, and the way he’s _changed_. We’re all healing, slowly, but Malfoy? He looks like death itself. I- I hate it.”

The look on Ron’s face clearly showed that he couldn’t sympathise as much as Harry, and that was understandable. Harry sighed. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about stuff and all- I’m gonna have an early night- you go have fun,” he tucked the map into his bedside drawer and sunk into his bed sheets.

Ron stayed for a moment, thinking. But he didn’t say anything else on Malfoy. “Alright mate, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Er, Ginny!” Harry’s feet sped up to catch up with the ginger at the end of the corridor. Rather hesitantly, Ginny glanced back and managed her biggest grin. Her mouth stretched so wide, that Harry doubted its genuineness.

She continued walking as soon as he was in step with her, “What’s up, Harry?” He glanced at the familiar flowery smile on her lips before continuing.

“Well, I just haven’t seen you in a while, so I was wondering if you were okay?” The question came out a lot more awkward than Harry had intended it to be, and he grimaced internally. “Sometimes you don’t even show up for dinner at the Great Hall, so like, that’s weird,” he carried on rambling, trying not to trip over his words. He was sure that if he was indeed the reason that Ginny felt uncomfortable and upset, then she wouldn’t tell him, but if she didn’t, he would keep feeling horrible and apologetic. It was a sticky situation.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” Okay. She wasn’t okay. And it was his fault. That much was clear now. Ginny bumped his elbow with hers in a friendly sort of way, and Harry felt comforted by the physical contact. For a moment, he thought, maybe it would be okay. They could at least pretend it was. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “I’ve actually gotta run though- I’m meeting Luna in the library for some studying. I’ll catch you later?”

“Right, yeah, sure. I gotta run to the Owlery anyway.” Harry smiled faintly and then watched Ginny turn and do a hurried walk towards the direction of the library. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared out of sight that Harry let out a heavy sigh. He knew he wouldn’t be seeing Ginny around later. She was just going to avoid him again.

When Harry reached the Owlery at the top of the West Tower, it was completely empty. Of people. There were plenty of owls, and Harry dejectedly picked out the nearest school owl. He hated going to the Owlery, it reminded him too much of Hedwig. A wistful smile passed his lips as he attached a small letter to the leg of the owl. It was a short reply to Molly Weasley, who had been eager for Harry to reassure her that he was doing okay at school, that he felt okay. Of course, Harry made sure he came across as more than okay in his letters, much like she did in hers, usually trying to supply some tone of enthusiasm so that each other wouldn’t worry. But of course, things didn’t feel okay.

Lost in thought, Harry hardly noticed the door to the Owlery creak open. However, the suddenly frozen figure brought Harry’s attention over to the door, and Harry felt himself still when he spotted Malfoy at the door. Just a little bit awkward, he thought.

After a moment, Malfoy began to head for his owl, making no move to acknowledge Harry. Harry didn’t blame him. But, he wanted to sort the weirdness out once and for all. “Malfoy,” he called out bravely, unsettled by how loudly his voice came out.

Harry almost thought that a reply wouldn’t come, but Malfoy steadily turned back to face him. “Yes?” There was no ‘Potter’ in his reply, Harry noticed. He also noticed that Malfoy looked a little worn out, with his messy hair and pale complexion, seemingly tinged with grey tones under the evening light.

“I wanted to apologise,” he proceeded rationally, hoping that he wouldn’t make an idiot of himself this time. Malfoy didn’t seem particularly interested, much to Harry’s displeasure. “For the stuff I said that time. When I was drunk. I didn’t mean to be so…” He paused, searching for the right word, breathing in the heavy awkwardness as he did so, “Er, obnoxious.”

A tiny smile may have flitted across Malfoy’s lips, but Harry couldn’t be sure. “That’s okay, Potter.” Harry swallowed, holding back his own grin. Of relief. He felt so incredibly relieved that Malfoy hadn’t decided to be difficult about it. But he was also hoping for Malfoy to say something more. He supposed that was hoping for too much.

Harry stood silently, watching as Malfoy went on with attaching his own letter to his owl, before turning back, looking a little surprised at Harry’s gaze, and then ducking his head and walking straight to the door. And then, he paused. Harry held his breath.

“Did you mean it?” Malfoy finally spoke up, turning to look Harry in the eyes. The astonished expression on Harry’s face had Malfoy dipping his head slightly, as if in regret, before elaborating. “I mean, the stuff you said to me that night, did it actually mean something? Or was it just stupid drunken rambling?”

Harry gulped, he couldn’t be entirely sure what he had said. He remembered snippets, bursts of conversation- well, shouting- here and there, but he was _drunk_ , and he couldn’t be sure. “I’m not sure.” He answered honestly, and was taken aback by the crestfallen expression on Malfoy’s face. It was fleeting, almost unnoticeable, but Harry saw. Despite the lack of sense it made, he was sure the momentary disappointment in Malfoy’s eyes hadn’t been his own imagination.

“I mean,” Harry spoke up again just as Malfoy made a move to leave, “I don’t remember. Much.” Malfoy turned back to him, now looking rather intrigued and a little confused. The expression on his face was quite complex, actually. Harry couldn’t figure it out. “I just remember small bits, I don’t remember everything I said to you. But the stuff I do remember, I-”

He hesitated a little, watching Malfoy stand there with what he hoped was anticipation. He swallowed, “The stuff I do remember, it’s all true. It’s stupid, but it’s all true. That’s why I apologised just now. Because I meant it.” It was embarrassing, admitting all of that, but the look on Malfoy’s face gave Harry so much satisfaction, he didn’t regret it. It was a look of pure shock, was it surprise at what Harry had said just now? Or disbelief at the fact that he actually cared about him?

“You,” Malfoy began, his voice light and quiet. “You don’t know what you said-”

“I do. I told you, I remember some of it.” Harry interjected before Malfoy could finish. He liked this. He liked being able to be honest with Malfoy. There was so much he wanted to say to Malfoy, after all. Things about the war, about why he’d refused to identify him at the Manor, about him. Malfoy wasn’t an eleven year old insufferable bully anymore, he was Malfoy, and not in the sense that Harry had always thought of, but Malfoy as in, Draco Malfoy. A real, eighteen year old boy. One who was alive. And beneath all the stupid fights and horrible experiences, Harry wanted to understand him. He wanted to figure out all of the hatred and undo it all, he wanted to figure out all of the saving and embrace it all.

He took a breath and carried on, “I remember shouting about how you never talk anymore, and that you seemed dead, and asking why you weren’t annoying me anymore. And it sucks cause I’m embarrassed as hell,” Harry continued, wishing that his cheeks weren’t so red, “but I’m also glad. Cause I got it off my chest. Sorry if it’s weird. I know I’ve been acting weird. It was stupid, I know you’re just trying to be civil, and I respect that. I just- It just means you’re not okay-“ Harry stopped, unsure whether he’d crossed another line.

Harry watched as Malfoy’s wide eyes dropped to the floor, as his tongue swiped at his dry, bitten lips, thinking of a reply. “You really are a strange one, Potter,” Malfoy finally spoke, with something like a chuckle coming after his words. As if a laugh could rip away the awkwardness of the truth and emotion that hung so heavily in the air. “Apology accepted by the way,” he added, before swinging the door open and leaving. As composed as Malfoy had tried to come across, Harry could see, quite clearly, the stiffness of his gait as he strode out.

 

Things had gone back to normal since then. That of course, depended on what one defined as normal. For most students at Hogwarts, it was the Saviour Harry Potter and Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy going back to polite speaking terms, and speaking only when necessary. For Harry, it was Malfoy sneering and firing playful insults at him from across the corridors. Unfortunately for Harry, the normal that had been attained in the previous week was the former definition.

Harry had thought that maybe he’d taken to first step to getting through to Malfoy since being completely honest to him in the Owlery. However, it seemed like Malfoy had put up his iron defences, even more so since then. They’d been through a war, for fuck’s sake. Couldn’t Malfoy put down his pride for once and just- just- Harry didn’t know exactly what it was that he wanted. He’d saved Malfoy’s life, and yet they were acting like strangers?

It was a Sunday evening when Harry realised what he wanted. It was strange, and it made absolutely no sense. But it was the only explanation he could come up with, and, well, he supposed it was the most rational fit for his thoughts and actions recently. He had gone from being worried about Malfoy to wanting to be friends with Malfoy. Harry glanced over at the bed next to his, where Malfoy was laying peacefully, eyes shut and lips parted. It was pity and curiosity and some inexplicable feeling all at the same time. Harry’s head hurt trying to rationalise it.

 

The next afternoon, double Potions started off feeling unbearable for Harry. There was Malfoy, working silently, stirring his cauldron so intently that Harry thought he was probably trying too hard to focus on his work. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, Malfoy kept up these walls? They had exchanged nothing but polite ‘good morning’s at the beginning of the lesson, and Harry had been in a foul mood ever since.

“What’s got you so worked up now, Harry?” Hermione sighed, having noticed his scowl as she paused from her potion to roll up her sleeves.

Harry prickled, hoping that Malfoy wouldn’t figure out that he was the reason for Harry’s lack of good mood. “I’m fine,” he replied, inadvertently with a little too much emphasis, therefore giving away the fact that things were definitely not fine. He stirred harshly, not caring about the liquid sloshing over the edges.

“Harry! You’re getting it all over the desk!” Hermione scolded instinctively, frowning at the abominable mess Harry had made.

He grunted, trying his best not to look over at Malfoy, who he couldn’t tell was paying attention to the conversation or not. “I forgot to get fluxweed,” Harry threw down his equipment and stormed off to the shelves. _Stupid bloody Malfoy and his stupid not talking tendencies_ , Harry thought as he ran his eyes all across the shelves, hands twisting and moving bottles aside. He was so frustrated, that one harsh flick of his hand sent a glass jar toppling off the shelf and-

No crash. Harry twisted back to see Malfoy standing behind him, glass jar caught smoothly in one hand. Harry didn’t know what to say, instead only standing there silently as Malfoy carefully replaced the jar in its rightful place. He was about to force himself to say _something_ , when Malfoy saved him the trouble.

“Careful, Potter. Wouldn’t want the boy who lived to become the boy who set a classroom on fire because he’s angry and clumsy as fuck.”

Harry was about to retaliate, when the scowl forming on his lips lifted unwittingly into a disbelieving grin, not caring whatever dangerous substance he’d just almost let shatter to the ground.

Malfoy could hardly keep his arrogant smirk in position either, not when he spotted the absolute golden look on Harry’s face. Clearing his throat, Malfoy reached an arm up to replace the toxic jar before pulling down the jar of fluxweed. “Here,” he shoved it into the chest of a beaming Harry Potter. “And stop looking like such an idiot, your face just got creepy and ugly,” he turned, leaving Harry standing, dumbstruck by the shelf.

Almost immediately, Harry snapped out of his daze and trailed after Malfoy back to their table, hands clutching the jar closely to his chest. “Malfoy,” he began, unsure of what to follow with. Malfoy merely tilted his head away from his cauldron and raised both eyebrows at Harry. “You’re the idiot,” he delivered with a grin, one that Malfoy never dreamed he’d be able to see directed at him. He stared just a little longer than he should have, revelling the happiness radiating from Harry’s face.

“Shut it Potter, your potion’s going to boil over,” he finally snapped after he was done staring. The smile remained irresistibly on his face even as he turned away to his own cauldron.

Silently, both Hermione and Parvati gaped at the pair of them from across the desk, before turning to give each other shocked looks when neither Harry or Malfoy noticed them staring.

 

“Harry! I honestly never thought I’d see that again,” Hermione expressed in violent whispers as they hurried out of Potions and to the Great Hall for dinner.

“See what?” Harry feigned obliviousness, and Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently.

“You and Malfoy!” She spoke a little louder now that they were far away from the classroom, and Malfoy was likely nowhere near enough in the vicinity to hear their conversation, especially with the swarms of students now bombarding towards the same destination for food. “I never thought I’d see the two of you bickering again like that- I thought that was over,” she explained, not necessarily annoyed, but more just surprised, Harry was glad to detect.

They had spent the remainder of the lesson making tiny, aggressive but joking comments at each other whenever the opportunity presented itself. Such as when Harry had made a particularly messy job of cutting up his dandelion roots, and Malfoy had made a particularly snarky comment about it, prompting another “Shut up, Malfoy,” but also another unrelenting smile.

Harry pushed back the grin creeping onto his lips, “We’re just- We’re-” He shrugged wildly, “I guess I prefer it this way, actually,” he admitted, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“What do you mean?” Hermione questioned as they found Ron sitting at the table already, too passionately distracted by tender cuts of roast beef and hot gravy to notice his best friend and girlfriend walking over. Harry was mildly glad to see that Ginny was also eating next to and chatting with her brother.

“Hey,” Harry beamed as he took a seat opposite Ginny, leaving the one opposite Ron for Hermione. Ginny’s smile broke the moment he turned away from her brother, and Harry swore he watched it shatter as if it were a piece of glass. Hermione smiled as she sat down too, before returning to questioning Harry.

“Honestly Harry, it’s as if seeing Malfoy either puts you in a scarily good mood or sends you into a foul temper,” she commented, spooning potatoes onto her own plate as Harry watched the door to the Great Hall attentively after realising that there was no familiar spot of blond sitting at the Slytherin table.

Ron paused from chewing his food to give Harry a questioning look, “I thought you and Malfoy were going through a weird phase,” he emphasised the words ‘weird phase’ and Hermione raised her eyebrows, while Ginny continued to give no reaction and concentrated on her food.

He was about to shrug at Ron’s comment when he spotted the tall, blond figure striding into the Great Hall. Harry kept his eyes locked onto Malfoy, watching the way he walked, his posture still so regal and so correct. But there was a sense of stiffness, like sadness suffocating the air. There was a soft ‘Harry?’ from his side, but he barely registered the voice as he fixed his eyes on Malfoy’s face as he sat down, willing Malfoy to look at him.

If Malfoy was purposely avoiding his gaze, Harry couldn’t tell, because he was so persistent, that after what might have been a minute, Malfoy finally looked up, a flicker of surprise in the greyness of his eyes.

He’d felt it, Potter’s stare, but he could barely allow himself to look up, in case he’d felt it wrong, or if Potter looked away. But there they were when he gave in and looked up, those glassy green eyes, so resolute and so bright. Draco had to look away, he had to, but he didn’t want to. So he let himself stare back at Potter, questioning so desperately what it was that he wanted.

“ _Harry_!” Hermione exclaimed again, and Harry finally turned his attention away from Malfoy, breaking the stare between them. The three of them had paused from their food to make wide eyes at Harry, who returned the looks with an alarmed expression on his face, as if to ask, ‘what?’

Ron was the first to speak, “Is this seriously sixth year all over again?” He asked in disbelief. “Can’t we just keep Malfoy out of our lives now?” Somehow, Harry didn’t exactly like the thought of that.

Before Harry could reply, Hermione cut in, “Do you think he’s up to something, Harry? Is that what it is?” Ginny looked like she had something to say too, but the words never left her lips, as Harry burst into response as soon as Hermione had finished.

“Malfoy’s not up to anything,” he insisted, “He’s not. I’m just- he’s different these days, and it’s weird. So I was kind of worried. That’s all, okay? He went from being the biggest prat in the world to being perfectly decent and I’m just… curious. Hell, maybe he is up to something, okay? Who knows?” Harry rambled, shoulders shrugging and hands flapping wildly as he tried to explain. “But he has no friends and people seem to hate him and-“ He paused, observing the strange looks on his friends’ faces.

There was a moment of silence before Hermione spoke up again, her tone of voice rather careful, “Harry, if this is another weird obsession- let’s call it a fixation-”

“It’s not!” Harry yelled, flying from his seat, prompting a few Gryffindors to draw their attention to him. Fortunately, the natural loud chatter of the Great Hall had prevented the rest of the students from hearing his outburst. “I’m done with dinner,” he added, much more calmly, even though he had hardly taken a bite of food. Harry strode out of the Great Hall, not noticing Malfoy’s curious eyes on him.

 

The following week became both stressful and confusing for Ron and Hermione. There was a flurry of Malfoy whirling through the days of the week. He seemed to pop up everywhere, in the corridors, in the library, in conversation. And every time, he’d make some snarky comment about Harry, though his insults were considerably less venomous than they had been before the war, and strangely much more good-humoured. It was a little insane, like they’d been spun back into first year. Harry didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to love bickering with Malfoy, and Hermione came to the realisation that, rather surprisingly, the sad, forlorn looks Harry usually wore began to fade away. As it turned out, Malfoy was a great distraction. Was that why Harry was so fixated on Malfoy? Hermione hated to admit it, but she couldn’t figure it out for sure.

Another thing was that Hermione had to give credit to Malfoy for not harassing herself or Ron at all anymore, and in fact was perfectly polite to them when the opportunity to speak arose. For example, Hermione was rather surprised when Malfoy had politely and quietly asked to borrow her cutting knife in Potions the other day.

“Morning, Malfoy,” came Harry’s voice as the three of them passed the blond in the corridor on a raining Sunday morning. Ron and Hermione exchanged the usual ‘it’s happening again’ look but didn’t say anything.

"Shove off, Potter,” Malfoy sneered without hesitation as he passed them swiftly, but with an uncharacteristic smile, Hermione noted.

‘So weird,’ Ron mouthed at Hermione when Malfoy had disappeared out of sight, and Harry had disappeared into his own head.

 

December had rolled around in no time, and students were beginning to discuss exciting Christmas plans and praying for snow. It was a rather cold evening when Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville sat around the fire in their common room, away from the other Eighth Years, conversing about those same things.

“Mum sounded proper excited in her last letter,” Ron was telling the other three, “I think Fleur’s going to be staying for a week too, and then Bill’s gonna go with her to her place. And with Percy back for good, I suppose it’ll be nice,” he finished, though he sounded rather glum, and it was obvious what was going through his mind even though he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Hermione silently squeezed Ron’s hand, which was already intertwined with her own.

“I can’t wait,” Hermione spoke rather softly, her voice almost a whisper. Hermione was planning on spending half the Christmas holiday with the Weasleys and the other half with her own family. As fun as it was at The Burrow, she had missed her own parents too much in the previous year. “What about you, Neville?”

Neville was sitting with his knees to his chest, next to Harry. “I’m going home- I don’t think anyone’s staying, Luna said she’s going home too,” he mentioned.

“Actually,” Harry started, knowing that this was probably the best time to say what he was about to say, “I was thinking of staying. At Hogwarts. For Christmas.” He elaborated with some difficulty, as his friends all turned to look at him.

“What- Why?” Ron questioned in disbelief. Neville and Hermione looked just as shocked as they waited for his explanation.

To be completely honest, Harry wasn’t entirely sure himself. He supposed there were a lot of reasons: he wanted some time alone, he kind of needed it. Things had gotten better, but still, Harry couldn’t bear to have to pretend he was okay in front of everyone, and to have to see everyone else pretend that they were okay in front of himself was even worse. He wanted to believe that spending time at The Burrow would help, that everyone could cheer each other up. But somehow, it didn’t feel that way. Plus, this was his final year at Hogwarts, and part of him just wanted as much of it as possible. Hogwarts was home, after all.

“Er,” Harry wasn’t sure where to begin. “I just thought some time alone would be nice. At Hogwarts.” His friends didn’t look convinced at all.

“This isn’t about Ginny, is it?” Hermione asked, causing Ron to look alarmed.

“What? No!” He responded, a little too quickly, with a little too much conviction. “It’s not.” It wasn’t really, though it was a small contributing factor. He wouldn’t mention it though. Ginny would probably want Harry there too, they’d always be family, but it probably wasn’t the best thing for them. He wasn’t sure whether Molly or George or the others knew about their official separation, and he knew they wouldn’t hold anything against him for it if they did, but they didn't need the extra awkwardness, sense of separation, when everyone was already trying to hold their sorrow together. And if they didn’t know, it would be disastrously awkward to explain it. Not that the entire situation was that severe. Again, it was just a side factor.

Before anyone could speak up again, the four of them had their attention snatched by the figure walking into the common room. Malfoy. He didn’t say anything, nor did he seem to look over, he merely headed up to stairs to the boys dormitories.

Harry watched a little longer than the rest of them, noticeably too. “I think I’ll head up to sleep guys,” he stood abruptly as the other three just watched, somehow not surprised.

“Harry!” Ron called after him so that Harry turned his head, “if this is really about Gin-”

“It’s not,” he replied calmly. “I haven’t properly decided anyway. I’ll think about going back to The Burrow, okay?” He assured them before turning to go, but not before returning the weary ‘goodnight’s his friends whispered.

It was barely ten o’clock, and no one else had come up to sleep, but Harry watched as Malfoy climbed into his bed, slipping between the cotton sheets and letting his blond strands sprawl haphazardly over the pillow. “Why do you sleep so early?” He asked, walking over to his own bed next to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy didn’t bother opening his eyes or turning over in his bed to face Harry. For a moment, Harry even thought that Malfoy might be back to ignoring him for some daft reason. But then his reply came, light and tired like usual, “that’s none of your business, Potter.”

Strangely content with the answer, Harry smiled to himself and headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Night, Malfoy,” he said as he passed Malfoy’s bed.

Malfoy didn’t reply.

 

“I heard you’re staying at Hogwarts for Christmas,” Luna spoke in her usual dreamy tone of voice as they strolled across the grass outside the Hogwarts castle.

Harry nodded, “I haven’t put my name down yet, but yeah. Probably.” His mind hadn’t really changed in the past week since his conversation with Ron and the others. Honestly, he hadn’t had much time to think about it anyway. He’d been spending too much time trying to finish the inhumane amount of homework he’d been given, organising Christmas gifts for his friends, and telling Malfoy what an annoying git he was just so that Malfoy would tell Harry what a massive idiot he was. Quite serious stuff, really.

“That sounds nice. I would stay too, but I’ve got to go back and see my dad,” she explained, her eyes wandering the grey, clouded sky as she clutched a heavy book to her chest. Harry only let out a noncommittal noise, mentally recalling his experience with meeting Xenophilius Lovegood.

“I just wanted some time alone, you know? I don’t think Ron’s too happy with me about it,” he explained himself as their feet left the grass and came onto the familiar stone paving of the castle grounds.

Luna looked over, her eyes large and misty, “oh? But you won’t be alone though, there’s a few students staying behind too.”

“Oh, I know, but not anyone that I know-”

“I heard Draco Malfoy telling Professor McGonagall that he was going to be staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays,” she told him, unaware of the glorious effect this fact had on Harry.

“Malfoy is?” He asked, eyes popping open wide, just to be sure. “You’re sure?” Luna nodded just as Harry reached the Eighth Years’ common room. “Malfoy. Right- Er, thanks, Luna. I’ll head in then.” She smiled, not knowing what she’d done to prompt a thanks from Harry.

“Good night, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the christmas ch is ch3 but im posting this 12am today lol what a joke  
> this has been edited last night and i refuse to look at it again so it's probably got some horrid mistake oh wait the entire thing is lmao  
> merry christmas!!


	3. snowfall

Why in the world was Malfoy staying for Christmas? Harry couldn’t figure it out as he walked down to breakfast from McGonagall’s office after putting his name down for staying. He supposed it wasn’t exactly strange, he’d just never have thought that he would be spending Christmas with Malfoy. He thought about asking him about it, but then shook the idea away in case it would make Malfoy change his mind and run off back home to avoid Harry. But they were past all that awkwardness anyway, right?

“Where’d you go this morning?” Ron asked, scooping more beans onto his plate when Harry took the seat opposite him at the Gryffindor table. “The others already finished eating and went up to class.” Belatedly, Harry realised that there was only about five minutes left of breakfast. He hurriedly forked some scrambled eggs into his mouth and took large gulps of pumpkin juice.

“I went to find McGonagall. To put my name down for staying over Christmas.”

Ron paused, the fork slipping from his fingers for the first time that morning, “huh? That’s actually happening?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, before taking one final sip of his juice, “gotta run. I’ve got Potions,” he got up from his seat abruptly, leaving Ron staring at his hastily retreating figure.

 

When Harry walked into Potions, he immediately waited for Malfoy’s voice in the form of some sort of snarky comment or insult. But none came. So Harry’s eyes darted to Malfoy as he took his seat next to him and found him sniffling quietly. Malfoy. Sniffling. Malfoy, afflicted with the common cold. Harry blinked at him in surprise, and observed how tired his eyes were, its usual grey shine seemed too dull this morning. There was a spot of red tinging the tip of Malfoy’s sharp nose, and a faint flush of red tinted his cheeks.

“Aw,” Harry began, “has someone got the sniffles?” He teased, grinning wickedly at a gloomy Malfoy, who turned to glare at him.

“Why don’t you stop picking on sick people, Potter?” Malfoy challenged, trying to match Harry’s teasing tone. But the voice that came out of his lips was croaky and defeated, and his face coloured even more at the sound of his own mismatched grotty voice.

Harry let out a tiny snort, “come on, Malfoy. You look and sound like shit, why are you in lesson where I can make fun of you instead of resting up in bed like a good little boy?” Draco only glared, slightly embarrassed by the end of Potter’s question due to some of the connotations that passed through his head. He’d rather not think about that right now. Or ever. He wasn’t into that. Maybe for Potter. Okay no, never.

“Some of us actually care about our grades, Potter,” he snapped after a moment, this time sounding a little more decent. Harry raised his eyebrows, yes, he knew Malfoy was a high achiever in terms of academics, but that sounded rather uncharacteristically nerdy.

“Really, Malfoy?” Harry had his elbow propped up on the desk now, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he stared at the tired blond. “You sound an awful lot like Hermione saying that,” he carried on teasing, not taking his eyes off Malfoy for a moment, not even to glance at Hermione whose head popped up at the mention of her own name.

Malfoy merely coughed into his own arm politely, before swiftly ignoring Harry and returning to staring at the textbook in front of him.

Honestly, if he hadn’t had Potions in the morning, Draco may just have taken the entire day off lessons.

 

Finally, after another endless, tormenting week of unrelenting work, the autumn term came to an end. Bright baubles were strung in common rooms and richly decorated trees were poking out from every corner of the castle, signalling the official arrival of the Christmas holidays.

“Yes, I promise I’ll write,” Harry reassured Hermione for the third time, who smiled in response. He spotted Ginny hovering behind Ron, in conversation with Luna.

“Ginny!” He broke through between Ron and Hermione, “I thought I should say goodbye- and Merry Christmas.”

Luna turned to speak to Neville instead, and Ginny shifted towards Harry, seeming marginally uncomfortable. Or maybe she was distracted. By what, Harry couldn’t tell. “Merry Christmas Harry, it’s a shame you’re not coming this year. Mum will be disappointed.”

“Right yeah,” Harry felt apologetic, “I’m sorry about that. Give my best to her and everyone else, yeah?”

Ginny nodded, and Harry was turned around by Ron, who gave him a quick goodbye.

“Listen,” Hermione began, and Harry could hear the concern in her voice already. “You and Malfoy aren’t going to get into any fights, are you?”

“What? No! We-“

“I know you both seem fine these days, it’s all jokes and good natured bickering, but, well, it’s you two.”

Ron nodded beside her. “Honestly mate, I don’t know why you like pissing each other off so much. You used to hate him!”

Harry shrugged, “I don’t know. But I think’s it’s what’s best for both of us. It makes me feel normal, you know? And it means- well it means he’s okay, if you get what I mean.”

Ron appeared confused, but Hermione gave him a small, quick smile. “We’ve got to get going Harry, we’ll see you in the New Year.”

“Right, yeah, have a good Christmas!”

When Harry returned to the common room, he heard a familiar series of weak coughs and frustrated sniffling from inside as he was ascending the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. Immediately, he knew who it was.

“You okay, Malfoy?” Harry asked, intending it to come off sounding more like a jibe than like genuine concern. He failed there though, because Malfoy narrowed his tired eyes at Harry, as if confused, before grunting and turning over in his bed again.

Harry couldn’t help but walk over to Malfoy’s bed. He had never seen such a side to him before. He’d seen the Malfoy who was arrogant and bullying, the Malfoy who was trembling and crying and stuck in a corner, the Malfoy who was sometimes funny, the Malfoy who looked so, so defeated, but never before had he seen _sick Malfoy._ Malfoy looked comical with his flushed cheeks and chapped lips in contrast to the way he liked to present himself usually: well groomed, untouchable, and self-assured.

“Go away, Potter,” he added tiredly when Harry didn’t seem to be doing anything other than just hovering above Malfoy’s limp figure on the bed. Sighing, Harry turned away and left the dormitory.

 

An hour later, Draco awoke to the pattering of heavy footsteps, and when his eyes fluttered open, he found green eyes peering down at him, and a silver tray being held above his head. He’d know those green eyes anywhere, even when his mind was rock heavy and drowsy. “Potter?”

Harry jumped, having not noticed Malfoy waking up. “Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“I’m a light sleeper,” Malfoy explained briefly, sitting up in his bed and watching in wonder as Harry laid down a tray onto his lap. There was a pitcher of pumpkin juice along with a glass, a plate stacked with fresh fruits, and slices of sponge cake, along with a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

“I figured you might be hungry if you missed dinner to sleep,” Harry suddenly felt a little stupid, he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a boundary, if it was weird that he’d gone through the trouble of bringing food up for Malfoy. Not that it was much trouble, really. “I didn’t know what you liked,” he continued when Malfoy didn’t reply. He just sat there, staring dazedly at the tray in front of him. “So I just, well I got-” Harry stopped himself, he had picked out the stuff he’d seen Malfoy eat at the Slytherin table, but he realised that could sound a bit… stalkerish. “I just got some random stuff,” he finished carefully.

Malfoy looked blank for another moment, before letting out a quiet “thank you.” Harry watched as Malfoy dug a large silver spoon into the ice cream and put it to his mouth. “Um, you can go now,” he mumbled a little snottily when Harry just stood there. He thought about calling Malfoy out on his rudeness, but the boy was ill, and Harry really was just standing there weirdly. So he supposed he’d just leave it.

“Oh, right. Well, rest up,” he finished lamely, before grabbing his school bag to run down to the common room and start on his Transfiguration homework. He had nothing better to do anyway. Truthfully, Harry felt slightly flustered about treating Malfoy so well. It was still a little weird, even after their unspoken truce and the ambiguous friendship between them.

 

The next few days passed rather slowly for Harry. Malfoy was never around. He was always in the library when Harry was in the common room. He either woke up too early for Harry to catch breakfast with him, or was resting up in bed recovering from his cold, which had thankfully become substantially less severe. In the short moments when they passed each other or happened to be in the same room, Harry would throw teasing comments at him, trying to initiate conversation. Malfoy would throw them back, but only half-heartedly. Harry dejectedly pinned this reaction to Malfoy’s diminished wellbeing. When it came to lunch and dinner, those were the only times Malfoy stayed in close proximity with Harry for prolonged periods of time. Sometimes there would be a regular conversation in there somewhere, such as about homework, or the weather. Harry felt like he was the only one trying. 

After spending a long evening at the library, Harry was tiredly dredging himself up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory when he heard a faint sound. He couldn’t discern it properly just yet, it sounded a little like breathy whining. But he knew who it was. The only person that could be in the dormitory right now. Malfoy. Harry raced up the stairs and flung the door open. He stopped frozen, realising what the nature of the noise was. He recognised it. He’d heard it just once before, during sixth year. The sound of Malfoy crying.

Cautiously, Harry approached the bed in the corner quietly, gently. Malfoy was laying in bed, asleep, clutching the edges of his blanket in tight, balled fists. His pale face was convulsing painfully, eyes scrunched shut and eyebrows knotted tight. Soft whimpers escaped his chapped pink lips, and the soft moonlight illuminated the glistening wetness squeezing from Malfoy’s eyes and staining his cheeks.

Harry swallowed, Malfoy was crying. Maybe he was having a nightmare. About the war, maybe. Harry wasn’t exactly foreign to that concept himself. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he _could_ do, or if he was even supposed to do anything. “Malfoy,” he whispered, unsure.

Malfoy continued to shake terribly in his sleep, his trembling voice letting out quiet, broken ‘no’s. Harry crouched down slightly, watching the distressed expression on Malfoy’s face twist and morph with sadness. Harry felt that maybe, a part of his own heart was breaking, to have to see someone going through the same pain as he often did.

Gently, without thinking about it, Harry placed a hand on Malfoy’s shaking arm. “It’s okay,” he whispered, “Malfoy, it’s okay.” Malfoy didn’t seem to be affected by Harry’s attempts at comfort. “Don’t cry, it’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s just a nightmare,” his voice caught in his throat before his lips expelled its next word, “Draco.”

“Draco, it’s okay.” Malfoy’s name felt so foreign on Harry’s tongue, Harry wondered if he would ever get used to it. His hand instinctively began to stroke Malfoy’s arm with reassurance, but the moment his hand moved, Malfoy jerked in his sleep, and Harry could barely register what happened, when the next thing he knew, Malfoy’s hands were clutching at Harry’s. “Malfoy-” He reverted back to the use of his last name instinctively.

Malfoy’s hands climbed higher, clambering at Harry’s arm and pulling him downwards, as if Harry was an anchor. Alarmingly, Harry realised that Malfoy had pulled him over himself, and he was now laying atop of a crying Malfoy. He also realised though, that Malfoy didn’t seem to be shaking as hard now.

“Er, Malfoy?” Harry whispered unsurely, trying to climb off the blond. It didn’t work. Malfoy had an iron grip, and Harry also didn’t have the heart to just leave him there, distressed, sobbing. But that didn’t mean getting into bed with him, surely. In both senses of the phrase.

Still, it was awkward and uncomfortable, Malfoy was clutching at him like he was clutching for dear life, but Harry was having trouble finding a comfortable position. Also, it was awfully cold mid-December, and Malfoy’s blankets and duvet happened to be squashed underneath Harry, not covering him like he wished they were. “Are you okay now?” He asked, when the rapid weeping sounds seemed to have stopped.

Harry peered down at the sleeping blond, to find that his face was still scrunched up unpleasantly, as if from physical pain. Sighing, Harry let himself fall next to Malfoy on the bed, still chained by his cold, hard hands. He shuffled around in the cramped space next to the wall, tugging with his free hand at the blankets to try and pull some over himself. It turned out to be impossible, with their awkward position and all. Harry gave up, and simply watched as Malfoy’s expression began to fall into a much more peaceful one. Still though, Malfoy wouldn’t let go of Harry.

 

Harry awoke to a rare streak of winter sunlight hitting his eyes. He was startled to find that one, Malfoy hadn’t woken up yet, and two, he had managed to grab hold of more than just Harry’s arm over the course of the night. Malfoy now had both arms wrapped around Harry’s torso, and was slumbering rather comfortably and snugly against the crook of his neck. Slowly, his senses kicked in, and he realised that since he had the advantage of waking up first, he should probably climb out of Malfoy’s bed and pretend last night never happened. He didn’t exactly fancy having to explain to Malfoy that he’d found him crying and then stayed to comfort him. Something was telling him that Malfoy probably wouldn’t take well to that, and then the rest of Christmas would become horrendously lonely for Harry and painfully embarrassing for Malfoy.

But, it was just so warm and cosy. Malfoy’s fluffy blankets were now tangled across their legs under the protective warmth of his expensive duvet. But that wasn’t all. Malfoy’s entire body was emitting a comfortable heat, pressed close to Harry’s own body. Harry let his eyes close again, he’d just catch another minute of sleep. A minute turned into another, and then another. And then Harry tiredly realised he might’ve given up on getting up entirely. Plus, there was kind of a nice scent in the air. Harry swore he’d get out of Malfoy’s bed after he’d figured out what the really nice smell was. It was like clean cotton, except sweet. Not a childish, sticky kind of sweet, but a refined, subtle kind of sweetness. Harry leaned in slightly, lower, unable to resist, and belatedly found his nose against Malfoy’s neck.

Draco awoke to the smell of Amortentia. Strange. But it was definitely Amortentia, for he’d smelt it just once before, during Sixth Year, and he’d never forget the overwhelming embarrassment of having to admit to himself that it smelt exactly like Harry Potter, and then feeling so exposed with everyone there in the classroom, with Potter in the classroom, even though he knew no one else would know. It was like he was being teased, as if magic itself was yelling at him, ‘we know you have a big fat crush on Harry James Potter!’ As if he’d been able to deny it before then anyway. Whether it was Potter’s shampoo, or his natural scent, or maybe his body wash, Malfoy never knew, but it was Harry Potter nonetheless. He’d had to make up something stupid when Pansy had asked him what it smelled like to him. Chocolate, he’d lied, a little less smoothly than he’d wanted it to come across. And fire, he’d added, to make it seem more believable. Luckily, she’d believed him.

But the question now was, why the hell was someone brewing Amortentia next to his fucking bed? He wanted to get up and hex whoever the hell it was, but he was also just so comfortable, resting in the softness of his bed, resting against the warm sturdiness of- Wait, what was that? Draco felt the remaining traces of sleep drift away from him, and all the senses of reality began to sink in instead. He had his arms around something. A body. What the fuck. There was a faint tickle against his neck, and Draco deduced that it was probably hair. A person’s hair. Not his own. A person’s hair on a person’s head belonging to a person with a person’s body that Draco had his arms around. “What the fuck!” He shoved hard before he even opened his eyes to see who it was.

“Ow!” There was the heavy thump of someone hitting the wall, and Malfoy sat up immediately, hands scrabbling for his wand, when he realised to his confusion (and slight relief, embarrassment, more confusion, and maybe some alarming sense of pleasure) that it was Harry fucking Potter.

“ _Potter?_ ” He watched in disbelief as Harry rubbed the back of his head and began to rise into a sitting position.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy, it feels like you’ve cracked my head open,” Harry hissed in pain, before swiftly turning around, “am I bleeding? It feels like I’m bleeding,” he said in all seriousness.

Malfoy stared at Harry’s dark messy mop of bed hair, “n-no you’re not. What are you doing in my bed, Potter?” He exclaimed, his voice full of desperation for an explanation. At least there was an answer to the Amortentia now. Or at least what he had thought was Amortentia.

“Oh, that.” Harry twisted back around, his expression becoming a lot more nervous. “That, uh-” How the hell was he supposed to explain? Telling the truth was just going to be embarrassing for both of them, and Malfoy looked plenty embarrassed already, with his boiling red cheeks. Shouldn’t Harry be the one that’s embarrassed, anyway? Maybe Malfoy’s cold hadn’t completely disappeared yet-

“Potter, answer me!” Malfoy looked positively ready to hex his limbs off.

Harry swallowed. “Er, you were… upset- in your sleep.” Malfoy’s face began to twist with unpleasant confusion. “I came over to see what was wrong, and I just- Well, you just- You were-” He could barely force himself to explain, but he watched as Malfoy’s face fell from its confusion to a grimace. One that betrayed his unfortunate understanding of the situation. Maybe Harry should’ve just saved him the embarrassment and pretended he’d jumped in to cuddle Malfoy because he wanted to. Okay, that was just ridiculous. Actually, it had felt rather nice in the morning, but Harry realised he should probably focus on the issue at hand. “And then, you kind of grabbed me and wouldn’t let go-”

His murmur was cut off by Malfoy’s interjection of “enough, Potter!” The look on his face told Harry that he’d made enough sense of it to not want to hear the rest of the story.

“It’s fine. I get them too, the nightmares,” Harry muttered. He knew all too well, the horrid vividness of those dreams. Waking up sweating, crying, screaming so hard that it felt like his throat was being ripped. And then having to lay awake, pondering the cruelty of it all. The cruelty of the world, of fate, of having to feel. He’d gone through it all. He still did. He just knew how to handle it a lot better now.

Malfoy didn’t seem to know how to reply. Harry remained sitting cross legged against the wall, whereas Malfoy was almost toppling off the edge of his own bed. A moment of silence passed between them, and Harry awkwardly spoke up again, changing the topic, “I thought you were an early riser.”

Malfoy’s eyes rose from staring at the bed to Harry, “I-” It looked like another embarrassing realisation had struck him in the face. “I don’t usually sleep so well,” he murmured, eyes dropping to avoid eye contact. The reply was so quiet that Harry almost didn’t hear it. But he did. And it took him a moment, but then the implication crept into his mind and stained his cheeks in the form of a crimson blush. Malfoy slept well, simply because Harry was there.

A silence filled the gap between them. Both of them wanted to say something, _anything_ , but their heads were blank and filled to the brim all at the same time. And then, Harry caught sight of a gap in the curtains.

“Malfoy, it’s snowing.”

Malfoy looked confused for a moment, and then jerked his head back, arm reaching up to pull the cloth back harshly, revealing white, heavy dollops of snow falling from the sky like a blizzard. He looked back to meet Harry’s wondrous eyes. It hardly snowed in December, snow always came after Christmas. And even when it did snow, it was always wet, much more like rain, and dispersing quickly and melting into the insignificant greyness of the concrete streets.

“It’s snowing!” Harry repeated again, his eyes expanding with an excited glow, “Malfoy I’ll race you,” he declared, dashing off the bed in an instant.

“Huh?” It took Draco a moment to realise what had just happened. He had assaulted Harry Potter in his sleep, assaulted him again when he woke up, and now Potter was challenging Draco to a race simply because it was snowing. He didn’t know if Potter really was this easily distracted, or whether he just wanted to change the topic. He supposed he wasn’t in a position to complain. “Potter, wait!”

Blindly and without much thought, Draco stumbled off his bed and after Potter, summoning his winter coat and scrambling to throw his arms through it as he did so. He could see that Potter had done the same, from his back which had just sped out through the dormitory door.

As they raced towards the Entrance Hall, they were met with an untouched, glistening layer of cold, thick snow on the ground not far ahead, still piling slowly with the large flakes falling from the sky. Potter paused abruptly at the entrance, causing a speeding Draco to ram straight into Potter.

“Potter!” He grumbled, but he could barely complain, when, in one swift movement, Potter had scooped up a whole handful of snow and whacked it into the side of Draco’s head, before dashing out into the snow.

“Ow! POTTER!” Draco boomed, leaving rapid tracks in the soft layers of snow as he ran towards Potter once he’d recovered from his initial shock from being attacked so brutally. “Potter you absolute git! I’m gonna get you back so-” He was silenced by another snowball accurately smacking against his mouth.

A roar of unadulterated laughter was heard from a short distance away, and Draco practically growled with anger. “Okay, that’s it Potter,” he declared, crouching to load both hands with solid balls of snow before launching them one after the other at Potter. Potter’s laughter stopped short as he felt one snowball smash against his side, and the other at his neck.

“Malfoy, you’re gonna regret that,” he threatened, grinning as he scooped readily melting snow out from his neck. Harry’s eyes were still trained on Malfoy, watching to see if he would make any sudden movements. Malfoy didn’t seem to be moving, he just stood there, looking… hopeful?

Harry took advantage of Malfoy’s lack of action and sent another snowball spiralling into Malfoy’s stomach. That seemed to bring him back into the offense, as he charged at Harry with fresh fistfuls of snow, grinning, Harry noted.

They must’ve been fighting in the snow for ages, because Harry’s hands were utterly frozen by the time he had Malfoy caught and pinned underneath him as he poured handfuls after handfuls of snow onto Malfoy’s face.

“P-Potter!” Malfoy was spluttering as he tried not to swallow the snow falling into his gasping, open mouth. “You arsehole, fucking stop!” He yelled, shaking his head rapidly to fling the snow off, despite the breathy laughter that was escaping his lips every time he heard Potter’s voice make the same sounds.

Laughing childishly, Harry’s hands came to a stop, and began to brush the melting, wet snow off Malfoy’s icy pale face. Malfoy only glared up at him sulkily, jokingly, for a few long moments. “The snow looks like dandruff in your hair,” he finally said, and Harry snorted.

“Well you look-” Harry examined the face underneath his own to find pale, delicate skin, cheeks and the tip of the nose flushed with rosy bursts of red, but most of all, an impossible depth in the greyness of Malfoy’s eyes. They appeared glassy and clear in the white light that surrounded them, so much that Harry could find himself reflected in them. The still falling snow caught in Malfoy’s blond silky hair, pressed harsh against the ground. Malfoy seemed to be waiting for the end of the sentence, but Harry found that he had no idea how to finish it. “You look… stupid.”

That’s right. Malfoy looked impossibly stupid, with his hair wind swept and his lips so impossibly and disturbingly red. Surprisingly, Malfoy didn’t scowl and throw an insult back at Harry, nor did he push Harry off now that he’d stopped pinning him down so forcefully. Malfoy only stared. Harry noticed he did that a lot recently, Malfoy was a starer. He always had been throughout the entire time Harry had known him, he supposed. Stared, not with stillness, but with restlessness. His pupils were constantly darting around, dazed, as if desperately trying to take in all of Harry for some unknown reason.

Feeling just slightly awkward under the direct gaze of such grey eyes, Harry gently slid himself off Malfoy and watched as Malfoy immediately sprang up from the ground, a sense of shyness about him as he brushed mounds of snow off his body. Malfoy sat with his legs up, and Harry observed that his usually pale face was still crimson from the cold.

“Malfoy,” Harry began, as a thought popped into his head. “Do you remember that one Hogsmeade trip during third year?”

Malfoy’s eyes wandered upwards to find Harry’s, and then darted away again, “which one?”

“The one where you saw my head floating mid-air after you got attacked by mud?” Harry’s lips were quirking in amusement at the look of realisation dawning on Malfoy’s face.

His lips parted and closed a couple of times before he finally seemed to catch the full memory in his head, “That- what the heck!” Malfoy clawed a fistful of dusty snow from underneath his palm and threw it half-heartedly at Harry who blocked it with his arm. “That _was_ you wasn’t it? How did you do it?”

Harry let out a bubble of laughter at the frustrated expression on Malfoy’s face. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday,” he only teased, before having to duck from the hardened block of snow pummelling towards his direction.

“You’re absolutely infuriating, Potter,” Draco attempted to frown, but the swelling of his heart at the word ‘someday’ was seriously thwarting that plan. It was the promise of a future, some vague promise of some vague future, but nonetheless, it sent his heart racing. It was the kind of excitement that was so raw and so natural, one that felt too embarrassing to acknowledge, but was also too obvious to ignore.

“No, _you’re_ infuriating,” Harry countered confidently as he threw a heavy dusting of snow at Malfoy’s cheek.

Malfoy wiped the melting snow off with the back of a gloved hand, “no, Potter. You are. Really. You have no idea,” he breathed out, in a way that felt like the truth to Harry. The soft exhaustion and reluctance diffusing from Malfoy’s voice and expression reached Harry and put out the fire inside him that wanted to argue, instead setting alight his fluttering curiosity.

 

“I’m freezing!” Harry practically yelled as he burst into the common room, immediately leaping up the staircase. “Race you to the showers?” He paused just to glance back at Malfoy, who for some reason, was stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“Actually, I think I’ll just sit by the fire and use a warming spell,” Malfoy’s response had Harry taking a few steps back down the stairs.

“Are you sure? You’re sopping wet and nothing beats a strong hot shower- not even magic.”

Malfoy stood there, dripping with melting snow that began to pool at his feet. “Yeah, I’m- I like having my privacy when I-” Harry rolled his eyes when he realised Malfoy’s meaning. Of course. Posh kids and all. “I’ll go after you’re done.”

“Alright, suit yourself,” Harry leapt up the remaining steps with ease and disappeared past the bathroom door.

 

Having missed breakfast, Draco was absolutely starving by the time he got out of the shower. He practically tumbled down the stairs, hoping that it wasn’t too late to grab something from the Great Hall, when he caught a waft of something hot and savoury. Draco’s eyes darted towards the fire and found Potter sat curled next to the fire, a large tray of hot food at his feet, quite clearly carrying portions meant for more than one person. Potter looked up immediately, and Draco could hardly meet his gaze after the amount of time he’d had to spend thinking about him in the shower just then. It wasn’t exactly his fault, it was _Potter’s_ , it was Potter who’d tackled Draco to the ground earlier, pinned him down, straddled him, all the while oblivious to exactly what he was doing to Draco. His face set aflame at the memory as he walked as casually as he could towards Potter.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Harry explained, but Malfoy looked rather pleased when he laid eyes on the steaming plates of shepherd’s pie and slices of blueberry pie on another.

“Thanks,” Malfoy muttered simply, letting himself down on a patch about a foot away from Harry. He swiped a fork and a plate of shepherd’s pie quickly, taking tentative bites at first, which eventually grew into large, almost comical mouthfuls.

“Someone’s hungry,” Harry teased, unable to help himself, causing Malfoy to pause mid-chew.

Swallowing, Malfoy snapped back, “just because you brought _food_ Potter, doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about how you attacked me earlier, so I’d advise you not to pile on the list of offenses with your verbal attacks.” He snatched a glass and poured some pumpkin juice for himself, taking large gulps as Harry watched him with interest.

“Verbal attacks? I literally said ‘someone’s hungry,’ I don’t think that can be counted as a verbal offense. If you’re so offended though, I’m sure you can go to McGonagall and report me for saying ‘someone’s hungry,’” Harry stressed those two words again, “I’m sure she’ll punish me appropriately according to the severity of my offense.”

“Potter,” Malfoy snarled, though there was considerably less venom in it than there had ever been, and Harry thought Malfoy might have been about to laugh honestly.

“Malfoy,” he only replied, but with the gentle shadow of a smile playing on his lips. One that seemed to be asking if it was okay now. If it was okay to drop the awkwardness and the ignoring and to finally step out of the blurred lines of their relationship and into the real defined territories of friendship.

Even though Malfoy’s expression still seemed closed off, as if he was determined to hide some unknown part of himself away from Harry, there was also a sense of willingness to be found in his wide eyes and parted lips.

“It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow,” Harry reminded him between bites of blueberry pie, and watched as Malfoy paused momentarily as if he’d only just realised. “We should celebrate,” he continued, untucking his legs and sliding them closer towards the fire as he waited for a reply.

“And how would we do that?” Malfoy simply asked, not agreeing or disagreeing to Harry’s invitation.

Harry pursed his lips, raising his eyebrows momentarily as if in thought, “well I do have a bottle of firewhiskey and some chocolate stashed up from a while ago.”

Malfoy snorted, his mouth shaping into a grin, “Harry Potter’s big, great Christmas plans are to get drunk with his ex-arch enemy?” He would’ve laughed, but the look on Harry’s face put a stop to it.

There was a pause. A silent pause. An absolutely horrifying silence drowned them out, but Harry didn’t notice. Because his mind was spinning with the words ‘Harry’ and ‘ex-arch enemy.’ Perhaps it would’ve been crazy for Malfoy to keep his walls up after everything, but to hear him admit out loud that they were moving on with his own words, to hear Malfoy call him Harry, even if it was to mock him, and not for the friendliness. It was like Harry could physically feel the change they were going through, a shift, like someone had taken the world into their large, capable hands and tilted it, and Harry had _felt_ it.

It was a good change.

“No,” Harry finally replied, his eyes fixed on Malfoy’s pale expression, “my big, great Christmas Eve plans are to get drunk. With _Draco Malfoy_.” When Malfoy didn’t say anything, Harry spoke up again, but quieter, “and ex-arch enemy is too long. It doesn’t really roll off the tongue. You can just say ‘friend’ instead.”

Malfoy stared at him. Then he blinked, rapidly, like he was unsure of what to say. But of all the emotions running around in his face, he didn’t look displeased. Harry thought he’d probably remember that expression for a long time.

 

A day passed quickly. Harry had spent the morning replying to Christmas letters from Hermione before sending them off to the Owlery. Unsurprisingly, it turned out that Molly and Arthur and George and everyone else were all upset that Harry had chosen to spend Christmas away from them. Harry thought they probably had other things on their mind. Hermione didn’t mention those things. As sad as it sounded, he’d then spent the afternoon of his Christmas Eve in the library, writing his Charms essay. There wasn’t much else to do, really.

By the time evening rolled around, Harry was excited to finally do something for Christmas spirit. That explained the immediate rise in his mood when he found Malfoy sitting by the fire in their common room. Harry stared as he made his way over, Malfoy in casual clothes was always such a sight. Technically, he was wearing silk pyjama bottoms and a grey cotton shirt. A long sleeved shirt. Malfoy never wore short sleeves, Harry had noticed. It was crazily different from seeing him in uniform, or in suits, or any _smart_ clothing he liked to wear usually. Still, Harry found himself wondering what Malfoy would look in a hoodie, or even jeans. Malfoy looked rather confused by all the staring by the time Harry reached him, so he figured he’d save his mentally dressing up Malfoy thoughts for later.

“Aren’t you cold?” Harry asked, and Malfoy shook his head, eyes landing on Harry’s thick red sweater. He supposed they were next to the fire after all.

“Where’s the alcohol then, Potter? You can’t really expect me to spend time with you sober, can you? I don’t think I’d be able to cope,” Malfoy drawled with a sneer, his eyes flickering between the fire and Harry.

Harry bit back a smile, told Malfoy he was awful, and then proceeded to summon the bottle of firewhiskey from the dorm. “As promised,” he held out the bottle by the neck to Malfoy for him to take a drink first.

“Don’t you have glasses, Potter? How uncivilised,” Malfoy commented, his pale fingers lazily reaching for a drink nonetheless. Harry swiped the bottle back just before Malfoy grabbed it and whipped the cap off himself, giving Malfoy a look before taking a large gulp of firewhiskey.

“No, I don’t,” Harry replied, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he passed the bottle over with his other hand. Malfoy took the bottle, but seemed to hesitate. He stared at the alcohol in his hands, then at Harry’s face, his mouth, then at the bottle, and Harry thought Malfoy might have even looked shy right then.

In what was intended to be a graceful motion, but turned out to be rather tentative instead, Malfoy pressed the mouth of the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, taking just two quick mouthfuls.

“Not a regular drinker, Malfoy?”

“Not as much as you, clearly,” he replied as Harry swiped the bottle back out of Malfoy’s hand.

Harry laughed and gripped the neck of the glass bottle harder. There was something he wanted to ask Malfoy. But he couldn’t, not yet. They passed the bottle between them a few more times before Harry finally said something.

“How come you stayed for Christmas break?” He asked, before he could stop himself. Malfoy paused and gave him that look again, the blank one, filled with confusion mostly, but also… Harry couldn’t describe it. It was like an open door, but one that he knew he still couldn’t walk through.

“I couldn’t go back.” Malfoy replied simply, quietly. There was a silence, and that was the only thing that pushed Malfoy to elaborate. “I didn’t want to go back. To that place.” That place. His house. Home, as others might call their own house, but how could he? Harry understood, suddenly everything in Malfoy’s words was familiar. Malfoy turned to face the fire, and Harry watched the reflection of the flames flickering on Malfoy’s face. The Manor, Harry realised. That’s right. Why would he ever want to go back to somewhere haunted by the shadows of Voldemort, of pain, of death itself?

A part of Harry wanted to say sorry, but the apology caught in his throat and he stopped himself. Because Malfoy might’ve thought to hide his face by turning away, but the flames only illuminated his expression which was stricken with guilt.

“I know you feel sorry for me,” Malfoy began, his voice bitter. “But you have it worse. I can’t even begin to imagine.” Harry stared, immersed in the lightness of his voice, lost in his words. _I can’t even begin to imagine._

“Why did you-” Harry started after a moment, and Malfoy lifted his head, just a little. “Why didn’t you identify me at the Manor?” He watched in relief as some of the guilt seemed to melt away from his face. But the unease was still there, buried thick in his skin.

“Because-” Malfoy stopped. Harry watched his expression change as a million different reasons, explanations, excuses, words and images seemed to run through his head, so much that he didn’t know what to say. So he told the simplest truth. “I didn’t want you to die.” Malfoy dodged Harry’s wide eyes and snatched the bottle back, needing it.

Harry wanted Malfoy to elaborate, ached for it. But he didn’t ask and Malfoy didn’t say anything else. Harry didn’t know what he was expecting anyway. “Thank you,” he breathed out instead, and if it weren’t for the sincerity he felt, he would’ve regretted those words, because Malfoy looked horrified.

“Potter, I-” Malfoy paused, either because he didn’t know what to say, or because his voice had cracked. Harry realised it was the latter, when he heard the rest of Malfoy’s words, and the resolute yet defeated tone in them, “I’m sorry.” He exhaled like he had been holding in the longest breath, like he needed air again, and that it was the only reason he had allowed himself to extricate those two words. Harry knew that feeling well, too. The feeling of constantly gasping for breath, of being suffocated even in the open air. “For- For everything that I ever did, everything that I ever said.” His voice was shaking, the words pouring out like a violent, inelegant waterfall. And then Harry thought, he was really seeing Draco Malfoy for the first time.

“I saw you,” Harry spoke quietly. “I saw you lower your wand. You weren’t going to do it.”

Malfoy looked up finally, and there it was again. The feeling of looking at Malfoy for the first time, really seeing him. Seeing an eighteen year old boy, scarred, just like he was. Hurt, just like he had been. Shaking, just like the world always seemed to be.

“I-” Malfoy began, but one moment’s hesitation gave Harry the chance to speak again.

“I’m sorry too,” Harry wanted to reach a hand out as he began to speak, “for what I did to you in Sixth Year. I had no idea-” His voice began to bubble with emotion, remembering Malfoy laying on the ground of the bathroom, slashes across his chest and the glaring, taunting redness pooling at the cold floor. The urge to reach for Malfoy rose again, and Harry could hardly endure the space between them, could hardly stand the cruel fact that he couldn’t just reach across. “I had no idea what that spell did, I never meant to hurt you like that,” he finished with courage.

Malfoy was shocked, “I- You didn’t have to-” He stumbled with each word, and Harry just sat there, patiently waiting for Malfoy to let it out. “Don’t apologise to me,” he whispered, his voice dark, “I don’t deserve it.”

Harry frowned, “that’s not true,” he assured and again, his fingers crept forward across the carpet, but they stayed behind the invisible line Malfoy had drawn around himself.

“It is. I was a death eater, I was your enemy. We were supposed to hurt each other,” Malfoy continued, not looking up once, his eyes fixed on a spot at his feet.

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“Maybe so. But I knew what I was doing,” Malfoy’s voice had sunk even quieter now, Harry could feel the shame in the undertones of his voice. “I was scared. But still, I-” Finally, Malfoy whipped his head up to find Harry’s attentive green eyes before darting his attention across to the fire, as if afraid. “At first, I thought that- I really thought, if I could do this, then everything would be okay again. My Father wouldn’t be in trouble anymore and I could prove myself. I thought, ‘this is my chance.’ But I think some part of me knew all along, that I couldn’t do it. Because it was wrong. But I ignored that part of me. I hate that I-” Malfoy paused, and Harry’s eyes fell to the way Malfoy was clutching at the bottle, fingers curled tightly around the neck and squeezing, scratching at the glass. “I hate that I thought that was the way to proving myself, I hated feeling so afraid. It was already so, so, so scary in my head, but I could never have even imagined how disgusting, suffocating, nauseating it was in reality.”

Malfoy took a deep breath before continuing, and in that short pause, Harry almost felt guilty, he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. If Malfoy hadn’t been drinking, there was no way he would be saying these things. But Harry wanted so much to understand.

“And the worst part is that- It’ll never go away.” Harry watched as Malfoy’s eyes fixed onto a spot on his own arm, “I may have survived the war, but I don’t think I’m really living anymore. I think I might have died somewhere along the way.”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He was crossing the line, his hand was, as it reached across, through the wall Malfoy had built around himself, and curled its fingers around Malfoy’s forearm. Malfoy jerked his head up in shock, but Harry didn’t move his hand away. Just held it there, held Malfoy’s arm, slowly rubbing his thumb through the thin cotton of his sleeve, staring at the spot where he knew the faded scar of the dark mark must be, and wishing it away as hard as he could.

For a long while, there were no words. Harry didn’t know what to say, and neither did Malfoy. Harry was mostly surprised that Malfoy hadn’t ripped his arm away, and Malfoy appeared to be mildly embarrassed. Until finally, “I would save you again.” Harry was as shocked as Malfoy at his own words, and for a moment, he panicked. “If that could bring you back to life. I think I’ve been trying to do that for a while now.” Harry didn’t understand what he was saying anymore, but the words fell honestly from his mouth against his own will, and he suspected that that was what it felt like for Malfoy too just now.

“Thank you,” Malfoy breathed out. Harry felt that Malfoy might’ve wanted to yell, to question, to cry, but instead, he had decided to talk. He closed his eyes, “Thank you,” he repeated. “I forgot to thank you for saving me. That’s the one just now, and the other one, that’s for being willing to save me again.”

The ghost of a smile passed across Harry’s lips. “That’s oka-”

“No,” Malfoy cut in, eyes shut tighter now, “you don’t understand. You _saved_ me.” Harry _didn’t_ understand. “When I’d given up all my hope, when I really thought that I was going to die, when I was clutching for life in that fire but my mind was already wondering if death would be much different from the way I was living, you-” Malfoy didn’t seem to be able finish his sentence, his eyes were still fixed on Harry’s hand. And then, “your hand,” Malfoy’s voice was not much more than a whisper now, and despite all his dwindling rational inhibitions, he shifted his arm back so that he could take Harry’s hand into his own. It was just as warm as he had remembered it to be.

Draco couldn’t go on. He couldn’t tell Potter, as much as his spinning mind was urging him to do so, he couldn’t tell Potter that that moment was the most alive he’d felt in so long. All Potter did was stretch out his hand, but Draco took it like Potter was offering him life. And he was. But more than that, Potter felt like life to him. And that’s why, even though Draco _knew_ it wouldn’t do his heart or sanity any good spending time with Potter, he just couldn’t stay away. Because he liked what it felt like to live. And above everything, Potter gave him that. “You weren’t just saving my life, you were telling me to live. As if I deserved to.”

“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry replied, so distinct in the silent common room, so piercing and penetrating, mirroring Malfoy’s earlier words. Harry couldn’t remember what Malfoy replied, he couldn’t remember if either of them said anything after that. He could only remember the searing touch of Malfoy’s palm against his, the trembling fingers curled around his own. Because his head was dizzy soon after, and he thought it must’ve been the firewhiskey, but then he thought it might’ve been the silver crystals in Malfoy’s eyes. When did he get so close to Malfoy anyway? Harry couldn’t remember. But he was close, too close, so close that he could smell that subtle sweetness, almost smoky now that they were next to the fire. He liked it. Really liked it. So Harry leaned even closer. And then he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so tired!!!!!  
> this chapter was slightly longer than usual ahhh thank you for reading <333


	4. downpour

Unlike most people, Harry’s first thought that next morning was not the alarmingly wonderful realisation that it was Christmas, but the just as alarming, possibly wonderful realisation that there was a mass of platinum blond hair tickling his face. It wasn’t the most shocking situation, not after the incident a couple of days ago, there was even a strange sense of deja vu. Not even the fact that Malfoy had his arms wrapped loosely over Harry’s shoulders was fazing him. Not at all. Harry shifted a little under Malfoy’s heavy, sleeping figure.

At least Malfoy wasn’t in any position to throw him against a nearby wall this time. _Were_ there any nearby walls? Harry edged his face away from Malfoy’s and squinted. He could spot the blurry fireplace not far from where he and Malfoy were laying, he must have lost his glasses at some point during the night. What had happened anyway?

Maybe he’d get a few punches to the gut when Malfoy finally woke up. What happened to Malfoy being an early riser? Why was Malfoy hugging him in his sleep anyway? Why was he hugging Malfoy back? Harry snatched his hands away from Malfoy’s waist and planted his palms against the carpet.

It took five more minutes of self-interrogation before Harry realised that it was Christmas.

It took another five minutes before Harry decided he needed to do something about the situation. What had he done last time? Well, he wasn’t fully awake last time, and now that he was, he felt like he’d been caught- caught? Doing what, exactly? Ugh. He supposed he should just get away from Malfoy. But he was still so sleepy. He should’ve just woken up after Malfoy, he didn’t need to be the one dealing with the awkward morning after drunken cuddling. Was that what it was? He supposed he could just go back to sleep. But he _couldn’t_. Not with every soft exhale of Malfoy’s breath assaulting his exposed neck and sending shivers down his torso under his sweater.

It was weird. It was weird because after ten minutes, Harry was seriously considering taking Malfoy into his arms again, rolling them onto their side, and then sleeping through Christmas day. It was probably because he had pins and needles in his right arm and the blood flow was fucking up his brain or something. Yeah, probably that. Harry groaned. Malfoy shifted. Harry shut his eyes tight.

A minute passed, maybe more. Nothing happened. Perhaps Malfoy hadn’t woken up then? Harry bravely cracked an eye open, and then both. Wrong move. Malfoy shifted at that exact moment, and Harry found Malfoy’s face above his own, shocked at how close he must be, because all the details of his face, his dishevelled blond hair, his pink open mouth, pale skin, flushed cheeks, eyes so wide that Harry thought he was staring into the infinite cuts of a diamond, were suddenly so obvious that it was exhilarating. No, it was strange. Harry instinctively shoved Malfoy away from him.

“Merry Christmas,” Harry blurted, sitting up from the floor, his eyes flickering to Malfoy, who was gently rising from the carpet, body half turned away from Harry.

“Merry Christmas Potter,” Malfoy replied quietly, standing. Harry followed, pushing himself off the floor.

“Erm, presents? Or breakfast?”

Malfoy paused, still turned away from Harry, facing the stairs to the dorm instead. “I’ve got to use the bathroom first.”

“Oh, ok.”

 

Harry knew, he knew how hard this entire friendship would be after a night of embarrassing truths, but he took a breath and tried anyway. “Do you want to go for a game of Quidditch?”

Draco’s head snapped up from his new leather bound notebook (a Christmas gift) and stared for a moment, hesitant. Draco knew, he _knew_ how much of an awful idea this would be, but how could he ever say no to Harry James Potter? That hand he extended out to him so many years ago, Potter was finally returning it. “Sure,” he mumbled back before he could stop himself. “Just the two of us?”

“Well, who else?” Harry burst into a grin, “come on, let’s go.”

So they did. Flew and grappled and laughed until the tips of their noses and their cheeks and their arses were frozen from the iciness of Christmas and the winter wind.

The next day, they tried out the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Deluxe Pranks Gift Set George had sent Harry for Christmas until they _accidentally_ turned Filch’s hair green and Harry almost had it confiscated, if not for him and Malfoy being such fast runners.

The day after that, Malfoy helped Harry on his Potions assignment, and the next, Harry gladly repaid the favour through their Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

It was a Sunday when Harry made Malfoy snort so hard with laughter in the Great Hall that chocolate ice cream came right back out of his nose. Malfoy had to clutch his face and turn away in embarrassment, his body still shaking as the melting chocolate threatened to spill out of his mouth.

And it was a Monday when the Eighth Year students piled into the common room, laughing and chattering about their Christmas break only to find Harry and Draco curled up on the large arm chairs, enjoying a tense game of wizard chess.

“Harry?” Ron called, walking over with Hermione when Harry hadn’t seemed to notice that they were back.

Potter glanced up, beamed at his best friends, “hey!” Draco tensed at the way Weasley and Granger kept glancing over at him, their gazes wary, questioning. He didn’t blame them though. How could he? “How was your Christmas?” Potter continued, but he’d already turned back to the chess board, deliberating his next move.

“Erm, it was great Harry, how was yours?” Granger replied, while Weasley continued to stare back and forth between Potter and Draco, then at the chess board. The pair of them were simply standing, hands interlocked, awkwardly looming over Potter and Draco, and it seemed that Potter was the only one who couldn’t feel the heavy atmosphere. Draco wanted to run away.

Potter finally moved his chess piece, “yeah it was pretty great,” he focused his attention on his two best friends once again. Draco stopped thinking about his next move and started recalling the way they’d spent Christmas instead. They’d played Quidditch, Potter had fallen off his broom to avoid taking a bludger to the arm and Draco had laughed at him, genuinely. He’d watched Potter eat a record amount of turkey to the point that Draco was amazed he could still walk. But the highlight of it all, must have been when they’d curled up in their own beds, talking comfortably past midnight. And amidst all of it, Potter had given him one of his golden grins. The ones where his emerald eyes were wide with attention and his mouth split wide open, sweetness spilling out from it till the corners of his lips couldn’t pull any further, and his teeth were shining in all its glory. Draco had thought he’d never get one of those. And now that he had, he figured he would probably never forget it.

“Malfoy?”

“Huh?” Draco snapped out of his thoughts to find Potter, Weasley, and Granger all staring at him.

“Hermione asked how your Christmas was,” Potter repeated for him, and Draco glanced up at her, swallowing thickly. He could hardly look her in the eye, the shame of all his past crumbling onto his shoulders once again. But she only waited, lips parted, no hatred surfacing on her features. But pain, he could see it etched hard in her expression despite her efforts to hide it. Her kind and courageous attempt at civility was splitting him open.

“It was fine.” Draco needed to leave. “Thanks,” he added, quieter, internally willing himself not to run out of the room. He kept his head down.

 

Lessons started again the next day, and Harry found himself hurrying towards double Potions while Hermione desperately tried to keep up with his swift strides.

“So uh, you and Malfoy? How did that come about?” She asked, clutching a stack of heavy textbooks to her chest. She’d spent the day before along with Ron trying to pry answers out of Harry, but it seemed like he’d either been stuck next to Malfoy or too distracted about when he could next stick himself next to Malfoy.

Harry shrugged slightly, “we hung out over Christmas I guess,” was all he said, and just as Hermione was about to warn him to be careful, they’d reached the dungeons and Harry was back to wagging his tail at Malfoy. Hermione was surprised to find at least that Malfoy had a strangely apologetic air around him, he almost seemed shy.

 

Hermione noticed over the week that Malfoy really did seem different, she wasn’t sure whether he’d been like this since the beginning of the year, or whether it was just Harry’s influence. His surprising behaviour came to a climax though, when he approached her one evening in the Eighth Year common room.

“Granger,” he spoke, his voice low. “Do you have a minute?” Hermione gazed up from her book, letting it fall shut. “And uh, Weasley too- wherever he is,” Malfoy added, avoiding her eyes and scanning the room instead. It just so happened that Ron and Seamus came into the common room at that moment, so Hermione waved a hand at Ron, urging him to come over.

“Er, I was hoping we could go somewhere… less crowded?” Malfoy mumbled as Ron approached them, looking perplexed.

As they walked out to the courtyard, Ron nudged Hermione sharply in the side, “do you think he’s going to murder us?” He whispered not so discreetly.

“Hush Ron, he can hear you!” Hermione replied through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice low.

Draco winced internally as his paces came to a stop. He turned, observing the bewildered faces in front of him, partly obscured by the darkness of the night, partly illuminated by the glowing, hopeful moon.

“I wanted to apologise,” Draco abruptly established, firstly to quell their suspicions and secondly to stop himself from running away. They were both so taken aback, their mouths dropping open, looking almost comical that Draco would’ve found it funny if he wasn’t so uncomfortably terrified.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, “for everything. For calling you a- well, I would never say that word again,” Draco’s eyes dropped from watching Granger’s face to a patch of the dark green beneath his feet. “I’m sorry for making up that stupid song too,” he looked up, finding the freckles on Weasley’s face this time, before addressing them both again. “I’m sorry for being horrible, and trying to get you into trouble, and I’m really sorry for-” He caught Weasley’s eye and flinched just slightly. “For almost murdering you in Sixth Year, I never wanted-” Draco bit down on his lip, hard. This was so embarrassing, but it was right, and it had to be done. He thought all this year that he could get by leaving these words unsaid, but it couldn’t be done after all.

The pair of them just stared, taking everything in. Weasley’s face seemed to be twisting with confusion, doubt, and maybe even a struggle with some willingness to forgive all at the same time, whereas Granger appeared much more composed.

“Did Harry ask you to say all this?” Were Weasley’s first words, but Granger kicked him so harshly in the foot that it looked like he immediately regretted them. Draco merely shook his head.

“No. And I’m not asking for forgiveness, I couldn’t- Not after everything, but you both deserve an apology.” A thousand apologies, he thought, but didn’t voice.

Granger swallowed before answering, “You hurt us. But we owe you too,” she admitted. “But most of all, I think we’d all just like to forget those memories. There’s too many apologies and explanations and forgiving due. Let’s just put everything behind us, okay?” Draco was half sure that Granger was convincing herself more than him. “If Harry thinks of you as a friend, I’m sure the least we can do is get along.”

Her quelled the worries he’d had boiling up inside of him since he’d begun thinking of how to apologise. All the horrendous scenarios and outcomes he’d had spinning in his head were melting away just like that. It didn’t matter that they both looked so wary standing in front of him, all that mattered was the sincerity in Granger’s voice telling him that they were going to _try_ , when they really didn’t need to, when Draco was really the only one who should be putting in all the effort in the world.

He caught her kind and determined eye, and at that moment he knew, why Hermione Granger was someone who Potter had chosen to stand by his side, fight by his side, laugh by his side all these years, and why Draco wasn’t. And despite the lack of input from Weasley, Draco knew for sure that Potter had made no lapse in judgment there either.

“Thank you.”

 

“He apologised to you?” Harry repeated, after swallowing down a large mouthful of toast the next morning. There was almost a sense of pride swelling inside of him as Ron nodded dumbly with sceptical eyes so wide that his eyebrows were raised and hidden by his floppy fringe. “I told you, Malfoy’s not the git we all knew him to be anymore.”

“A war really does change people,” Parvati observed from next to Hermione. The comment unsettled Harry, but he ignored it and took a sip of pumpkin juice before interrogating his friends again.

“When was this? What did you say back?”

Hermione sighed, “last night. And we told him it was okay, that we should put everything in the past.”

“And you really do think so, right?” Harry asked, beaming. Ron was simply staring, stuffing more eggs into his mouth. Hermione simply sighed again and nodded. Harry broke into a proper grin, feeling as if he’d gained approval of some sort.

“Ginny’s worried about you,” Ron started, as he walked Hermione and Harry to their Potions class after breakfast.

This caught Harry’s attention, “she is? I haven’t seen her in a while. Not since before Christmas.”

“Er yeah, she was already worried that you didn’t come for Christmas and we mentioned that you’re friends with Malfoy and well, she just wants you to be careful I guess,” Ron finished with a shrug.

Harry stopped in his tracks, just a couple of feet away from their Potions classroom. “I’m fine,” he started, “and there’s nothing to worry about. Malfoy’s perfectly fine, and Ginny does know she can come talk to me herself, right?” There was a bubble of annoyance rising up inside of him, and he wasn’t entirely sure where it came from so suddenly.

“Alright mate, I just…” Harry didn’t hear the rest of Ron’s reply, because his eyes found Malfoy in front of them. He seemed to have paused in his steps, and Harry suddenly became self-conscious of their conversation.

“So I’ll see you later then, yeah?”

“Huh? Oh right, yeah.”

 

“So,” Malfoy drawled, in that familiar tone Harry had grown to possibly enjoy over the past few weeks. “Are things not working out with Weasley? And by that I mean girl Weasley. Er, Ginny Weasley,” he dropped his voice lower at her name, and they both turned to observe her table where she seemed to be chatting peacefully with Luna.

Harry would rather not speak about it, but he surprisingly felt less annoyed than when he was usually questioned about it, “And I should answer your question because…?”

“What? Should I not be privy to the Great Harry Potter’s secret love life even after he practically forced me to be his friend?” Malfoy faked a shocked expression, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, if you must know, Malfoy,” Harry began, acutely aware of Hermione’s interest from across the desk. “We broke up months ago.”

“Right, I thought I heard so. But I also thought I saw you hugging her so I wasn’t sure-“

Harry snorted, raising an eyebrow in amusement, “been watching me, huh?” He teased, even though he was fairly certain he knew which incident Malfoy was referring to, he remembered the way he passed by, so coldly.

“I guess that’s kind of what we do though,” he added, before Malfoy could actually reply. “Watch each other, that is.”

Draco stopped scribbling notes on his page, the ink blotting horribly at the end of a word as he paused, motionless. Something in his chest lurched, he didn’t know why the way Potter said that affected him so much. Maybe it was the way Potter made it sound like he paid as much attention to Draco as Draco did to Potter. Which was untrue. What an awful lie.

 

It was late in the Eighth Year common room when Harry found himself in an arm wrestling match with Seamus, most of the rest of the Eighth Years had gathered around in a circle to watch. He’d slammed Seamus’ arm down without much difficulty, of course he had, and was enjoying the cheers from his small group when he noticed Malfoy across the room.

Harry wasn’t sure when Malfoy had gotten there, sat snugly in the red arm chair with a book open opposite where Harry himself was at one of the old desks, facing off one brave opponent after another.

“Malfoy,” he called out, so that the small sea of people parted like a wave, allowing Harry a clear view of the blond. His head perked up and Harry couldn’t resist a smirk. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Wanna try beat me?” He asked, wiggling his fingers in a cocky manner.

Malfoy seemed to observe the group in front of him before standing and striding over, seating himself where Seamus once was, extending a pale arm.

The group had gotten considerably quieter as he did so. Ever since they’d found out Harry had befriended Malfoy, they tended to be a lot more considerate and less cold towards him. Though most could only muster up a front of indifference and a few had questioned Harry’s decision behind his back.

Harry ignored all of this. He grasped Malfoy’s hand with his own, fire spreading to ice in a heated instant. Malfoy’s eyes seemed to drop from his face to their hands, fixated. “Ready?”

Malfoy nodded.

Potter was strong, so strong. Draco watched the veins bulge in his arm, feeling the defeat all the way from his fingertips down to his bones. But still, he held on, trying his hardest not to let the match come to an end. The way Harry was gripping his hand had him melting in his seat, and so he lowered his head, determined to hide his pink stained cheeks, the blond strands falling just above his eyes.

Even as their arms inched closer and closer towards Potter’s victory, Draco wouldn’t give up. He glanced up at the final moment, as his knuckles grazed the desk at first, and caught Potter’s green eyes, illuminated with childish glee. Like starlight. Draco’s hand smashed into the hard oak.

Draco smiled in defeat, having never thought he would win anyway. Potter withdrew his hand, rough fingers slipping out of Draco’s slender ones. Draco clung on, fingertips curling tentatively but impulsively around Potter’s palm. “Rematch?”

“Sure.”

Truthfully, Draco just wanted to have Potter’s hand in his for as long as he could hold on. He wanted to feel all the calluses and the ridges, brush his fingers along Potter’s life line, fate line, every line, and trace soft, unmeaning patterns all over his palm. But he couldn’t. He could only press the hearts of their palms together and feel the knuckles of his hand crash against the hard roughness of the wood, until they were sore and white and red. Again and again and again.

 

“You didn’t win once last night.”

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter’s childish pride, “I let you win,” he drawled jokingly.

“You did not!” Potter scoffed, shoving him lightly in the side. They were walking to Transfiguration together, side by side, lost in their own conversation as numerous puzzled students trailed past them.

Or at least, Potter seemed immersed. Draco on the other hand, was rather aware of the unkind looks and less than innocent curiosity in people’s stares. So, the Chosen One was friends with the Death Eater? A charity case, a joke, manipulative, plotting, people seemed to be thinking all sorts of things. Wondering why Harry Potter had forgiven someone who’d done so many awful things, almost turned him over to the Dark Lord, almost murdered. Almost. Draco knew if Potter could hear him thinking now, he’d turn him around and maybe hold him and say ‘almost.’ Remind him that he hadn’t really done it, and that that mattered. But honestly, did that really change anything?

“Malfoy?”

“Oh, uh, sorry?” Draco shook his thoughts away.

“You were about to walk past our classroom,” Potter said, a small smile of amusement on his lips.

“Oh-“ Draco couldn’t finish his reply when Potter grabbed him by the arm and shoved him through the door to their classroom, his touch leaving a burn on Draco’s skin, even through the fabric of the robe. He didn’t think his heart was going to last much longer at this rate.

 

“Malfoy looks pissed off,” Ron observed through a mouthful of peas as Malfoy stormed into the Great Hall, looking grandiosely pissed off indeed.

Harry’s head perked up from his pudding, watching as Malfoy poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice and downed it rather sulkily. His pointy pale features were all scrunched up, and his blond strands seemed to sizzle with embers of anger and energy.

At first, Harry decided he was worried. But as he watched Malfoy glare at his roast potatoes, he couldn’t help but enjoy the petulance exuding from Malfoy’s aura. It was kind of… well, cute. 

He supposed _Malfoy_ was cute. As bizarre as it was, behind the harsh edges and perfect hair, there was the softer, simpler Malfoy. The one who told jokes in earnest and turned to watch Harry’s reaction, waiting apprehensively for him to laugh. The one who was actually rather skilled at Potions and got excited about Arithmancy. The one who smiled a little like he was no longer sure how to, but gave it his best anyway.

 

“What’s wrong?”

Malfoy only grunted and rolled over under his covers to face Harry. It was only nine o’clock, but as usual, Malfoy had already brushed his teeth, changed into pyjamas and tucked himself safely into bed.

Harry let out a tiny snort at Malfoy’s unamused yet tired expression, and then decided to try a different question instead. “Why do you go to bed so early?”

“I don’t…” Malfoy hesitated, shifting in his bed, away from Harry, his expression no longer so peacefully lazy and open. “…Fall asleep easily,” he finished under his breath.

Somehow, Harry wasn’t all too surprised, it all added up. Malfoy wasn’t an early riser, he just couldn’t sleep long. Most of the time, anyway. What did surprise him though, was the way Malfoy so easily gave him an honest answer. “I like this,” he admitted, “you being open about stuff.”

There was a silence, and then, “you’ve seen me sobbing in the bathroom before, I think by now I’m okay with you knowing that I’m not okay.”

A sudden thought passed through Harry’s head, an idea so ridiculous, Harry’s initial reaction didn’t even consider dealing with it. But then, as his eyes fell on the figure with his back turned, so obviously not asleep, Harry threw away his rationality.

Malfoy immediately turned over when Harry lifted his covers, sliding himself in next to the shocked blond. “What are you-“

“Going to sleep,” Harry answered, subconsciously observing the way Malfoy’s face was so full of childish innocence just then. “You apparently sleep better when I’m next to you,” Harry commented casually, removing his glasses and placing them carefully to the side.

Even through the blurriness of his vision, he could make out Malfoy gaping widely at him, speechless. “Plus, it’s cold.” The tip of Harry’s nose was icy from the January chill, and he turned on to his side so he could bury half of his face against Malfoy’s plushy pillow. “It’s not like we haven’t slept next to each other before,” he added as a final reason.

Malfoy didn’t reply, and Harry could no longer gauge his reaction properly without his glasses. “So, what happened earlier? You seemed pissed off,” he questioned drowsily. Perhaps it was the sleepy tone, or the casualness of it, but Malfoy didn’t seem opposed to telling him.

“Just some First Years, Potter. Nothing big.”

“Explain,” Harry murmured just as Malfoy turned over so all Harry could see was the blurry image of a back.

There was a long, tired sigh, filling the dark room with all of its hesitancy. “Just- Those stupid eleven year olds who _idolise_ and _worship_ you tried to hex me when I came out of Arithmancy earlier and it was just… whatever, it was pathetic it’s not like it did anything,” he grumbled under his breath and Harry felt the mattress shift underneath.

Harry inched slightly closer, careful not to let not even their toes touch, though his were freezing. Still, Draco could feel steady, warm puffs of air at the nape of his neck. He shivered.

“Why would they do that?”

Draco grunted, Potter really was an idiot. “I don’t know,” he let out bitterly, “maybe, possibly they don’t think their hero should be hanging out with a Death eater? I mean that’s just a random guess, that’s probably not what it is, right,” he finished sarcastically, dragging out the last word.

“Oh-“ Potter seemed lost for words.

“It wasn’t like they were yelling at me to stay away from you because they think I’ve got some evil plan prepared to murder you once and for all,” he continued dryly.

“Malfoy,” Potter sounded strained, and Draco almost felt bad. “They’re just innocent kids, they don’t know anything, just ignore them.”

And _of course_ he’s nice to little kids. “I know, that’s what I did. Did you think I petrified them and hid them in the Forbidden Forest or something?”

Potter snorted, “hopefully not?”

“What, had enough of saving people already?” Potter didn’t reply, except with a short exhale of breath, which Draco suspected to be a laugh. He could feel it dancing all the way down his spine.

He still didn’t really know what the heck Potter was doing in his bed, but he wasn’t about to complain. It was true, Draco hadn’t been woken up from nightmares the past couple of times Potter had been there next to him. But, he’d never actually experienced having to fall asleep next to Potter, and he was beginning to think that might be a problem.

There was the sound of Potter drawing the curtains close around his bed, and he shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to fall asleep soon. And of course, it didn’t work. Draco didn’t know how long it had been since him and Potter had stopped talking, but it was becoming incredibly uncomfortable for him to be lying in one position for so long, so he twisted, as gently as possible, and lay on his back, alleviating the cramp on his side.

Potter’s breaths were steady and light, and Draco bravely turned his head to confirm that Potter was peacefully asleep, facing him.

Draco jerked his head back to face the ceiling, breathing deeply, feeling so wide awake. Potter, as in Harry fucking Potter, was lying beside him tangled under his favourite blankets, with only a sliver of space between them. Fuck. Draco had never felt so… _aware_ , before. So aware of how hopeless and defeated he was. Wanting someone from a distance and wanting someone when they’re right next to you was an entirely different thing. Because when they’re just _there_ , when they’re so close, there’s a feeling of being stuck in limbo. Some paradoxical hole opens up inside of your chest, because you ache so much to reach across and just hold that person in your arms, but the more you want to do it, the more you know you can’t.

Draco sighed, some tragic, lovelorn sigh that tinted the air with longing, and turned to his side. The sight of Potter’s resting face tugged at the corner of Draco’s lips, and he watched with awe, every detail of Potter’s expression. The way his dark, wilful strands of hair looked half sprawled against his own pillow, half sticking up in an unruly mess. The way his pink mouth parted just slightly, the gentle curve of his lower lip jutting out to the smallest degree. The tall arch of his nose, the piercing angle of his jaw, eyelashes thick and inky under the moonlight. Draco never thought he would be able to see all of this so close.

His fingers yearned to touch. Draco wanted, _so much_. Couldn’t Potter just be his?

 

When Harry and Malfoy strolled into Potions the next morning, Hermione immediately reacted, “Harry!”

Harry glanced up from chattering excitedly with Malfoy, who was grinning shyly, listening with intent.

“Where did you go this morning? Ron said you were gone from your bed when he woke up,” she expressed, concerned.

Harry and Malfoy both took their seats opposite Hermione and Parvati, waiting for Slughorn to show up. “Er, I just got held up somewhere,” he briefly explained, watching Malfoy’s expression which didn’t seem to give anything away.

Truthfully, they had both slept past breakfast and had had to get dressed in a rush to make it in time to lesson. Harry had suggested they both skip first period, but Malfoy had dismissed that idea without a second thought. Malfoy was actually kind of a nerd, and Harry undeniably loved to laugh at him for it.

 

“Oi! It’s the Death eater!” Draco was on his way back to the common room when some bulky Gryffindor Sixth Year sauntered up towards him, obviously trying to impress his group of snickering friends from behind him.

Draco winced at the words, but pretended to pay no attention to them.

“Never knew the Chosen One had such abysmal taste in friends,” the guy continued as Draco tried to step past the group, ignoring them. They were just immature sixteen year olds, Draco could deal with it.

“What’s your secret?” Another Gryffindor stepped forward, “you blackmailing him?” When Draco couldn’t pass, he finally looked them in the eyes out of frustration, glaring with steady composure.

“You shagging him?” The first guy asked, causing the rest of his group to burst into raucous, unpleasant laughter. Draco’s cheeks grew hot at this, and he shoved past the small crowd, but they wouldn’t budge enough.

“Fuck off.” Draco hissed through gritted teeth, easily towering over the guy in front of him, hands itching to take someone by the collar and throw them against the wall. Kids in the years below were always so vile. Draco hated to remember that he wasn’t all that different a few years ago.

“Oooooh,” the group parted, letting him through, but jeered and booed until Draco had disappeared out of sight.

By the time Draco had made it to the common room, he’d already been stared and whispered at by two other different groups of people. Bloody hell.

 

“Malfoy?”

“Huh?” Draco turned to face Potter as they walked down the corridors, bypassing the flurry of students who were hurrying inside from the courtyard, where it was thundering with a mad storm of rain.

Potter seemed to study his expression, “nothing. You just seem distracted.”

Lips parting, Draco was about to offer some sort of excuse, when he realised he didn’t have one. Instead, some passing spirit of annoyance washed over him; how could Potter not notice? How could he not notice the resentful glares, the hushed whispers dropping low as they swept past crowds, the scathing remarks from every corner of the castle?

He shot down the feeling of irritation and blame, knowing that it wasn’t Potter’s fault in any way. “I just-“ They’d stopped now, standing in a corner of the corridor, the rain slashing relentlessly beside them. “Can’t you see?” His words came out almost as a plea.

Potter seemed confused. Oblivious, as always. “See what? It’s raining?”

Draco almost scoffed with laughter, God yes it was raining. It was raining so hard, it never stopped. Even when the sun was right next to him, blinding him, he could feel the rain. He took another deep breath, loving and hating Potter’s obliviousness all at the same time. “I mean people.” He spoke, voice lowered.

“People?”

“People staring and pointing and whispering because they’re appalled by your choice of company,” Draco explained frankly. Potter furrowed his eyebrows before glancing around, perhaps noticing for the first time that they were still drawing unpleasant attention.

“This again?” Potter’s pink mouth twisted with discomfort and borderline anger, and Draco hoped it was not for him. “Why are you so bothered? You don’t need to care what they think.”

But what if what they thought was right? Draco couldn’t bring himself to say so. He wasn’t ready to let go. Not just yet.

“I know,” he only muttered defeated, evoking a worried smile from Potter.

“Come on,” Potter hooked an arm around Draco’s rigid shoulders, searing into his skin, “I’m hungry.”

 

Over the next few days, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Malfoy seemed to distance himself. Saying little in conversation, replying less, laughing less, as if he was shrinking into his own body. Harry hated it.

They had been heading back to the common room after dinner when they ran into Ginny and Malfoy had promptly skittered off, only muttering some excuse of being in a hurry.

Now he was alone with Ginny at the bottom of a staircase, not saying very much at all.

“So, friends with Malfoy, huh?” She began, tugging her ponytail free. Judging by the windswept ginger strands and the redness of her freckled cheeks, it was obvious to Harry that Quidditch practice had just ended, and she was hurrying to catch the last ten minutes of dinner.

“Yeah, it just kinda happened.”

Her lips pulled tight into a brief smile before she stepped past him, “just be careful, yeah?”  
Harry knew she was just concerned, just looking out for him, like any friend would, but white anger flared inside him. He turned to catch her, “what are you trying to say?”

A flash of confusion crossed her face, “well it’s Malfoy, you know?”

Harry swallowed. He did know. He did know, but he knew even more than that. Was this what Malfoy was talking about? If even the best people couldn’t see past Malfoy’s mistakes, just in what kind of ways were other people looking at him like? A pang of guilt and pain struck him in the chest.

“Are you saying that because you’re still upset with me?”

“What?” Ginny appeared confused.

“Well Hermione said- well, she thought,” Harry’s voice lost its conviction as he watched Ginny’s expression twist with increasing confusion, “she thought that you were avoiding me because you were…”

A light bulb seemed to have formed above Ginny’s head as her eyes lit with both astonishment and understanding, “oh, Harry, that’s not-“ Her mouth flopped with amusement but settled on a frown. “It’s true I’ve been avoiding you, but not because I still have feelings for you!”

A tidal wave of relief washed over Harry, along with the feeling of being so utterly stupid. He wanted to laugh at himself. But there was something still unanswered. “Well, what’s wrong then?”

Ginny sighed, her freckled cheeks seemed to redden as she made an attempt to explain, “it’s just that… After we ended it officially… I was surprised at myself, because I wasn’t- Well, Harry, I wasn’t really sad at all! I mean, I was- But not in the way that I thought I should’ve been.”

Harry felt entirely puzzled as he listened.

“I thought about it and, I’ve been upset not because I’m still in love with you, but because I’m _not_. I know that makes no sense,” she continued, almost breathless, “but it’s because- I didn’t want to admit it but, there’s someone else.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked at her, feeling entirely thrown off course. A fleeting thought about Hermione having gotten something wrong for once passed through Harry’s head.

“I didn’t want to believe it, that I liked… someone else,” Ginny bit her chapped lips and brushed her fiery strands out of her face, but kept her eyes locked on Harry’s.

“That’s why it was so easy for us, to just separate like that. Maybe there’s a reason for you too, Harry.”

Harry stood thinking, puzzled. A reason?

After a moment, Ginny gave him one last look before hurrying past to the Great Hall. Harry didn’t even see her go.

 

Frustratingly, Harry hardly saw Malfoy over the next week, and it was a Saturday afternoon nearing the end of January when Harry confronted Malfoy on the idea that he was avoiding him.

“I know you hate it,” Harry breathed, icy hands shoved into his pockets, attempting to grasp for some form of warmth. “I know you hate the way people stare and judge and whisper, and seem to think we shouldn’t be friends or whatever, but you shouldn’t care.”

Malfoy looked uncomfortable, queasy even. The discomfort was there, behind the stone coldness of his pointed expression, Harry had learned by now to see the softness behind it.

They were standing outside in the courtyard, a storm of snowflakes falling perpetually to the ground beneath them.

“We’re friends,” Harry pressed on, “I wake up every day and I still don’t know how this all happened but I like this better than fighting. Way better.”

“Well,” Malfoy began, and Harry saw his attempt to feign indifference, saw how he seemed to be fighting against instinct, desire, fighting against the entire world. “Maybe they’re right,” the words left his tongue like the ice crystallising on the stone walls. Malfoy seemed reluctant as he said so, as if he didn’t want to say it, but had to let it out.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about _this_. How stupid and strange this all is. We don’t match up,” he muttered, the lightness of his voice irritating Harry. “We’ve only been friends for a while. Why does it even matter to you?”

The snow was falling thicker now, angrier, but neither made a move to head inside. “It matters,” Harry declared, “it matters because I don’t like fighting and I don’t like ignoring and I don’t even like civility, I like being friends.”

“Oh, because it’s all about you, isn’t it?” Malfoy’s tongue was a sword, one that he seemed to wield only out of familiarity, not contempt. Never contempt. Harry hadn’t seen such an emotion on Malfoy’s features for a long, long time.

“Come on, Malfoy. What are you so afraid of?”

Harry has never been good at noticing things. Perhaps he was a little better than Ron, but he lacked the attention to detail that he often found himself admiring in Hermione. However, it didn’t take much effort or talent to see it, the fear in Malfoy’s face. The expression that seemed to hold together some soft, fragile secret. A hundred million words maybe, or some undiscovered emotion, too tender, too dangerous and unfamiliar to the world.

“You don’t get it,” Malfoy began, and Harry’s mind flashed with images of the Astronomy Tower from Sixth Year. “I don’t want to be friends,” he murmured with difficulty, as if the words were caught in his throat and he was plucking them out raw with his own frozen, ceramic fingers.

Harry felt for a fleeting moment, the pain of his heart collapsing into itself before it was yanked away, away to hide with the ghosts in his body, much like everything else. “Why?” He stood rooted to the ground, body ready to fight despite not knowing why. His fists curled, forming spheres of ice heavy in his pockets.

Malfoy’s feet shuffled in the shallow lining of snow on the ground, and he lifted his head to face Harry, perhaps not as confidently as he had willed it to be. “Come on, Potter. How could we ever be friends?” He scoffed, eyes averting from green to white.

“Like this. Like now, we’re friends now. And I thought I was the stubborn one,” Harry’s voice held fire as he spoke.

“Well maybe I don’t like it, maybe _I_ don’t like _this_ ,” Malfoy raised his voice, stepping closer.

“Don’t lie.”

“Always so full of yourself aren’t you, Potter? What a way to remind me how much I hated you in the first place.”

“Stop lying. I can see it now, I see your lies. You’ve been lying this entire time,” the words left Harry’s tongue without any thought, like his lips knew the truth but he didn’t. His voice kept growing louder, and he took a step forward too, watching, hoping for the resolution in Malfoy’s face to crumble, but instead seeing it harden like steel.

“You don’t see anything,” Malfoy’s words came calm and steady, but the harsh lines of panic were etched into his frown.

“I hate you,” Harry burst out, at a loss for words, reaching for meaningless expressions of his anger and hurt instead.

“I hate you more.”

“You know what, Malfoy?” The fury spread like flames, “maybe you’re right. Maybe this is it. This is the end. Well done Malfoy, this is all pointless and stupid and it’s all your fault so yeah, maybe we shouldn’t be friends!” Harry yelled, feeling all too much like the blazing, confused fifteen year old he was three years ago.

“Fuck you, Potter!”

“Well, fuck you too, Malfoy!” Harry shoved hard at Malfoy’s chest, hands filled with rage and distress and chaos.

And then, in some swift, blinding movement, Malfoy had taken Harry’s cheek in his hand, fingertips curling at the base of his hair, and pressed their open mouths together. The smallest drops of snow caught and melted between the warmth of their lips.

Harry froze. It felt a little like every nerve in his brain had shut down and for a moment he couldn’t feel anything. And then he felt everything. He felt Malfoy’s hand on the small of his back, pressing him close. He felt his icy cheeks colour with heat, burning under the still falling snow. He felt his heartbeat drum louder and louder, thunderously rushing to his ears as if to embarrass him. He felt the world spinning. And the kiss, the _kiss_. But it could hardly be a real kiss, for it was only the simple press of their mouths and a subtle yet persistent tug on Harry’s lower lip. But it was enough to make Harry squirm, tiny shivers running down his spine.

Malfoy was _kissing_ him. There seemed to be fireworks exploding in Harry’s heart, sending infinite tremors from his head to his fingertips to his toes, and he didn’t know why.

Maybe this was Malfoy’s way of murdering him, maybe-

Malfoy was letting go. Before Harry even had the chance to move, or even the chance to _think_ , Malfoy was already letting go. Gently, his touch lingering, Malfoy stumbled backwards. Harry stood, stunned, watching as Malfoy backed away.

They both stood, taking deep breaths, blinking, watching the other. There was so much desire, uncertainty, and fear burning in Malfoy’s eyes, brandishing the grey with deep swirls of colour. So much that it was shocking.

So much that Harry could only watch as Malfoy turned and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hp has been on tv everyday and it's ruining my revision!!  
> yes i took the chapter title from ioi downpour lol  
> honestly should i have tagged bed sharing lmao  
> they kissedddddd- this chapter and the next one are my faves lol


	5. starlight

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._ What the hell had he done? Draco tore his way up the stairs in the direction of the common room, unsure of where he was really going.

Crashing through the doors to the Eighth Year common room, he was relieved to find that there were only two Ravenclaw girls sat in the corner with their books, hardly lifting their heads to give him any attention. He bolted into the dormitory and leapt onto his bed, hands flying up to cover his pink, blushing face.

He’d sexually assaulted Harry Potter and now they would never ever be friends (or more) again, and he and his Gryffindor army would tear Draco apart limb by limb. Merlin, he still had another six months or so before school ended, and he had no idea how he was going to survive. Maybe he could give up on education and move to France. Yes, he would become a pianist and live in a French white mansion and snog foreign boys who didn’t have green eyes and save the world. Boys who weren’t at all similar to Potter and- _Fucking hell._ Potter’s lips.

The phantom of its touch, warm and soft and tender still fizzed against his own mouth. The back of Draco’s hand grazed his own lips, still in disbelief despite the definitive sensation of something red and gold and indelible being smeared across it. Draco figured that feeling might never go away. He might turn eighty and crippled and still be thinking about Harry Potter’s damned mouth.

His arm slid up from his lips to his eyes, covering them almost in shame. He was so fucked. Now that he knew, now that he’d felt Potter’s touch, hand in hand, arms around waists, lips against lips, it was too much. He wanted more. He wanted so much. Potter had driven him insane. Would it be legal for Draco to sue?

Draco had thought that could’ve been the end. _Maybe this is it. This is the end._ It wasn’t. Draco had really thought, at that moment, that if that really was as far as Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter could ever go, then Draco wanted just once. Just to have what he’d wanted for as long as he could remember. What he’d longed for, watching and pining in class over Potter’s emerald eyes, witty words, and rare smiles. What he’d craved, in the middle of the night, shrouded in heavy darkness, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t mean anything if he hid it all away, muffled under the silent shadows of midnight.

Now that he’d had it, one moment wasn’t enough.

 

When Harry made it back to the common room, anyone could tell he was fuming. He’d marched up the stairs to the dormitory, then stormed all the way back down, demanding to know where Malfoy had gone. No one knew.

“I think I saw him run out of the common room earlier,” Hermione answered, looking up from her game of chess with Ron.

Harry balled his fists with infuriation, the anger rising from red hot confusion. His cheeks still felt like they were on fire, as if Malfoy had lit a match inside of him, leaving him to burn out, turning Harry to smoke and ashes inside out.

“Harry, what’s wrong?”

Running a hand through his hair, Harry stormed towards his best friends. “Malfoy, he-“

“What’s he done now, mate?” Ron asked, when Harry couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

“Well, he-“ Harry didn’t think he could say it. Part of him still couldn’t even believe that Malfoy had kissed him. “We got into a fight and- well, I’m going to hex his bloody face off.”

“Oh no, Harry, well, it’s _Malfoy_ , you were bound to get into a fight, weren’t you?” Hermione reasoned, and Harry’s expression seemed to twist with confusion.

“What are you saying?” Before Hermione could reply, Harry cut in again, “you still don’t trust Malfoy?” Again, he questioned himself, was this what Malfoy had been talking about? Was it really that bad? When were people going to get it into their heads that Malfoy was more than his past and his family?

Ron dropped his chess piece, “er, no, we’re just- Harry, what happened exactly? Why are you so pissed off all of a sudden?”

“Nothing!” Harry exclaimed, burying his head in his hands as he paced between Ron and Hermione, trying to dig some form of coherence out of his brain.

“I don’t trust him,” Hermione replied in all honestly, causing Harry to lift his hands away and stare at her. “I think it’s too much to trust him right now, but I get it. He’s different. He’s nice, especially to you. I even sit next to him in Arithmancy now. He’s very smart,” she continued, “but I think it’s just typical for you two to fight isn’t it?”

But it wasn’t typical for them to _kiss_ , Harry mentally noted.

“And he plays good chess,” Ron added quietly, almost reluctantly.

Harry swallowed, trying to mentally process something. But he couldn’t think. 

“I need to find him.”

Harry held the Marauder’s Map in his hands, somewhat hesitant. He’d been so sure, so frantic to find Malfoy just seconds ago, but for some reason, his fingers wouldn’t open the Map. So what if he found Malfoy? What was he going to do? He wanted answers from Malfoy, but he also needed answers from himself. Harry shoved the Map back into his bedside drawer and paused, when his fingers felt the familiar spine of a Potions textbook. He remembered suddenly, that he still hadn’t returned it.

Harry flipped through the pages, eyes roaming through the neat notes Malfoy had made in his neat, curled writing. And then he stopped. There, on a completely random page, was a drawing. Malfoy was in no way good at art, but quite surely, there was a sketch of Harry’s own face. The strokes were hurried, strung together in blotchy, inky lines, but the detail was immense. When had he drawn this? It must have been before they were even friends.

What did it all mean? A tiny thought crawled into Harry’s mind, but he shook it away. It couldn’t be. Surely, it couldn’t. Harry shut the book and slunk down into his covers.

The sky was pitch black, not a star glittering in its dark expanse, but it was already bleeding into indigo, and then a greyish azure, when Harry finally stopped thinking and fell asleep.

Malfoy wasn’t there in the morning either.

 

“Where did you go last night?”

Harry had never been more thankful that he had Potions first thing in the morning. Malfoy had never been one to skip class after all.

However, that didn’t mean Malfoy was going to answer his questions. Harry sighed, exasperated, “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Still, no response.

“You can’t just ignore me forever, you know.”

Harry honestly thought he’d stopped feeling so mad, but now he was beyond irritated. If Malfoy thought not talking was going to be the solution to everything, he was so wrong. “Malfoy,” he tried again, and then, when he was met with silence yet again, Harry did the only other thing left to do. He grabbed Malfoy by the wrist.

In a shock, Malfoy dropped his quill, the ink smearing where he’d been interrupted mid-sentence, and jerked his head to face Harry. 

Harry swallowed, feeling Hermione and Parvati’s attention on him. Slowly, tentatively, he slipped his hand upwards, sliding against Malfoy’s palm, fingers interlocking and wrapping around the coldness of Malfoy’s skin.

Malfoy watched, eyes wide almost with what seemed like enthused horror as Harry interlocked their hands. Harry really wasn’t sure what he was doing, thinking, hell, he didn’t even know if he _was_ thinking.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?”

“Finally. You said something. Do I need to keep holding your hand for you to keep talking?” Harry lifted their entwined hands, “is that how this works?”

Malfoy withdrew his hand swiftly from Harry’s wilful grip.

“What do you want me to say?”

“You owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Oh, really? So you’re not going to explain why you all of a sudden just- Mph!”

Both of Malfoy’s hands flew out to stop Harry from speaking, eyes wide with bright panic, fingertips curling around Harry’s warm cheeks.

Harry raised an eyebrow playfully, frustration strangely alleviated from the touch of Malfoy’s skin against his lips.

“Just- Stop talking.”

 

Harry couldn’t figure Malfoy out. If he wasn’t talking, then Harry was left to deduce the answers all by himself. Malfoy had _kissed_ him. Kissed. Out of absolutely nowhere. And frankly, there was only one reason why anyone would kiss anyone.

But _how_? Malfoy didn’t like him like that, he _couldn’t_. Harry’s head felt like it was going to explode into a billion bits.

Besides, Malfoy had pulled away after what felt like two seconds. Maybe five. So clearly, even if he had any feelings whatsoever, they’d been completely erased with that kiss. Harry supposed it mustn’t have been particularly enjoyable for Malfoy, considering that he had been too shocked to be able to respond in any way. _Would_ he have responded if he’d been… in control of himself?

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

“Your ice cream’s melting,” she pointed out, and Harry stared down at his goblet of almost fully liquidised strawberry ice cream. “What’s wrong?”

Harry stilled, stabbing the dessert with his silver spoon a couple of times, contemplating whether to tell Hermione. The taste of strawberry was sticky and sweet on his tongue as he sucked on his bottom lip in thought.

“What does it mean when someone kisses you?”

Fortunately, the Great Hall was so noisy, that no one had heard him other than Hermione, who sagged forward, eyebrows raised, mouth parted.

“Well, Harry, it probably means they like you…” she explained, when she realised Harry was seriously troubled by the answer to the question.

“I’d thought of that one myself actually,” Harry couldn’t help the sarcasm, “but I mean- isn’t there another explanation?” He lowered his voice when Dean glanced over momentarily.

Hermione seemed puzzled, “Harry I don’t understand, what’s happened? Who kissed you?”

“Well,” Harry began, twiddling with his spoon before Hermione reached over and set it down. “It’s someone who… _definitely_ doesn’t like me. Like that. Or maybe even at all,” he grumbled the end, remembering Malfoy’s hurtful comments whenever they fought. His eyes gazed past Hermione and caught Malfoy, watching him spoon small chunks of chocolate ice cream into his mouth in silence. His _mouth_.

“It’s Malfoy isn’t it?” Hermione sighed, brushing a piece of hair back.

Harry jumped when he heard Malfoy’s name, “how did you-“

“Is that what this entire, weird fight is about?” Harry only nodded his head in response, suddenly feeling full from his food. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

 

“And then he just pulled away and ran off! So clearly, he regretted it and he hated it, right?” Harry spoke fervently, hands motioning frantically as they climbed the stairs towards their common room. “So I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t bring it up, cause that’ll save both of us the embarrassment.”

“Well, you said you didn’t respond, right? So maybe he took that as a sign and politely backed off, Harry.”

“Well, no, Hermione. Because if that were the case he wouldn’t have been so… so difficult afterwards. He’s all full of disgust and regret now, that’s why he’s avoiding me!” Harry exclaimed, prompting a quiet ‘shhh’ from Hermione.

“Why is it so impossible that Malfoy might have feelings for you?” They’d stopped now, at the top of the stairs, Hermione a step above him.

Harry stood in silence, contemplating the impossible idea. “Because… he’s Malfoy. I didn’t even know he liked blokes!”

“Do _you_ like blokes?”

They sank into a heavy silence, until Harry muttered, “I don’t know.” And then, “maybe. I never really thought about it. I never had time for- for _self-discovery_.” Harry spluttered, some hidden sparks of resentment arising from deep inside. “Until now.”

As Hermione was about to interject, Harry spoke up again, this time quieter, a horrid flush in his cheeks, “but it’s not exactly difficult or complicated. It’s… obvious. So yeah, I think so.” Somehow, it was easy to admit it when he was in front of Hermione.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione reached a hand out, taking Harry’s into her own, the golden warmth spreading, counteracting the late January cold.

“Don’t mention it to anyone else yet,” Harry added abruptly, grateful for the warmth in Hermione’s hand. 

“Of course not, I wouldn’t say anything unless you wanted me to,” she spoke softly. “But I think you should talk to Malfoy.”

“Thank you. But what if we’re wrong? Maybe there’s a thousand reasons someone might kiss someone else, maybe it doesn’t have to be lo- It doesn’t have to be… romantic.”

“How will you know if you don’t ask him directly, Harry? You’ve always been so full of courage.” The corners of her lips lifted sweetly, and Harry briefly understood why it was that Ron had gone on and on about her smile that time he’d had too many firewhiskey shots. And then, he thought about Malfoy’s smile.

It was always so honest and elegant, celestial but refined, like someone had scattered silver stars across his mouth. Harry remembered it used to be so mischievous and malicious, annoying even. Did something change? Had Malfoy ever smiled that starry smile before the war? He couldn’t have, he couldn’t. Because how could Harry have missed it?

How strange it was, to have practically grown up with Malfoy, but to have never noticed such things until now. Now, every little thing seemed to be flooding Harry’s senses.

 

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen late at night or early in the morning for the next few days, and it took Harry all of his willpower not to open up the Marauder’s Map. If he found out where Malfoy was hiding, he’d be fearlessly running to him, and then they would just get into another fight. That’s all they did in lessons these days, constantly cross and uncross the line between teasing and fighting, tolerating and talking, silence and laughter. Somehow, Harry still managed to draw a reluctant laugh from Malfoy once in a while. It was comfortable. If Harry just let the remaining awkwardness die off, they could just be friends again. But… If he kept pushing, was that going to get him what he wanted?

What he _wanted_. That was all Harry could think about these days. Kissing Malfoy. At first, Harry tried to shut it out, the recurring images in his head, the knot of tension in the pit of his stomach. But it wouldn't work. His mind wandered towards Malfoy in completely new and fascinating directions. Angry kisses, soft kisses, slow kisses, and then, more than kisses. Things he’d never had much time to think about became things he thought about every day, every night. And it was all Malfoy’s fault.

It wasn’t until a Friday morning in February that Harry found himself woken early in the morning by some embarrassing, hazy dream. One that flashed with passing images of mussed blond hair and pale bare skin, warm against his own.

The residual echoes of his name being called in the form of laboured breaths faded away when the sound of footsteps lead him back to reality.

Harry barely opened an eye. It was Malfoy. Miraculously, it really was. Harry stared. He realised, that Malfoy really was rather attractive. Even more than he had come to think so already. Not in a slick, glamorous kind of way, nor was it in a soft and serene kind of way. No, Malfoy was a striking kind of beauty. Sharp and blazing, the kind of face you could see imprinted in your mind even after you closed your eyes. Harry carried on staring, mesmerised, hardly awake still, watching as Malfoy fluffed his hair dry. He lay, somewhat guiltily observing the harsh angles and hard lines of his body, and the contrastingly soft planes of pale skin and glowing white hair.

And then, the cold silver of his eyes caught Harry’s attention. Harry didn’t know anyone else with quite the stark glimmer as Malfoy had in his eyes… his eyes that were fixed on Harry’s, wide and locked in surprise.

Oh.

Harry realised he’d been caught staring. Malfoy stood frozen, as if unsure whether he was simply imagining Harry’s eyes half open. After all, Harry wasn’t moving at all. So then he did. Harry’s green eyes fluttered open fully, allowing Malfoy to know that yes, he was looking. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath, and watched as Malfoy clutched at the towel that was hanging around his waist, grabbed his folded uniform pile with the other hand, and ducked into the bathroom again.

Harry shook off the hazy sleepiness and swung his feet to the side and got up from bed, heading towards the bathroom. He needed to talk to Malfoy.

“Malfoy, I-“

“Potter!” Malfoy had his back turned to the door, and was hurriedly shoving his legs through his trousers, tugging them up to his waist just in time. “Don’t you have any manners?” He huffed, flustered.

“Sorry, I figured we were on the level where we didn’t have to ask before we crossed private boundaries,” Harry quipped, but regretted it the moment he caught the mortification on Malfoy’s pale face. “It was a jo-“

“Look, Potter,” Malfoy was just about done buttoning his shirt by now, and Harry watched as Malfoy’s fingers worked on hiding more and more of himself away. “I’ll be your friend- or whatever, but just- can we please not talk about that thing?”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet Malfoy’s, “why not?”

Wrapping his tie around his neck, Malfoy dropped his head low to avoid the intensity of Harry’s stare.

“I just don’t want to talk about it. Let’s go back to how it was before, but promise me you won’t ask me about it,” he pleaded, the frail yet determined quality of his voice defeating Harry’s will to argue.

“Okay, fine, I won’t. I promise.”

 

That promise lasted approximately thirteen hours. Harry was running now, bolting, Marauder’s Map in his hand, attention switching constantly between the name on the parchment and the path in front of him. It was almost eight, and Harry had dashed out of the Great Hall when he’d heard what Hermione said.

_“I’ve been thinking these days Harry, and watching. And, well, I think… It’s just- the way Malfoy looks at you, it’s kind of… adoring.”_

Harry ran faster and faster, wishing so painfully that he could Apparate, barely feeling the balls of his feet touch the ground with each step.

_“He only looks at you that way when he thinks no one else is paying attention, in the way that seems like he can’t see anything other than you.”_

Harry was panting now, the wind slapping against his rosy cheeks, whipping through the mess of his hair. The sky was pitch black, but not without the stars glittering madly, unyielding even in the darkness of winter.

_“And Harry, that’s not even the strangest part. The strangest thing is… That look on his face, it’s not… new. He’s always looked at you like that. It’s just never been so obvious until now.”_

Harry stopped, huffing deep breaths as he finally found the familiar figure a distance away from him, sat huddled alone on the hillside.

He’d promised, he really had. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. “Malfoy,” he called, as he approached him slowly. And it must’ve been the tone of his voice, or maybe even the slight flush of his cheeks, he wasn’t sure exactly what, but the alarmed look in Malfoy’s eyes when he jerked his head back over his shoulder told Harry he knew exactly what he was about to say. And it was that vulnerability that made Harry want to bite his tongue.

Harry sat himself down next to Malfoy on the top of the hill, felt Malfoy shift away from him as he dug his palms down into the cold grass. “I have your Potions textbook,” he started softly, easily.

Malfoy’s lips parted in realisation, but the confusion showed on his face. “I saw the drawing in it. Of me.” He watched as Malfoy’s face twisted, as if mentally searching for an excuse, his eyes darting away. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry started, announced even, when Malfoy didn’t reply and he swore he saw Malfoy flinch. “I’m sorry because I can’t keep my promise.”

There was fear in Malfoy’s soft grey eyes. Again. And Harry learnt then, that fear for one’s own life and fear for one’s own heart was much too alike. The all too familiar bubbling, raging feeling arose in his chest as he studied Malfoy’s face, the feeling of wanting to protect.

“I have to know,” Harry’s voice came out much quieter this time. “Why did you kiss me?”

Against all odds, Malfoy’s lips parted and he answered. “Because,” there was a pause before Malfoy could finish, “I wanted to.” His fingers clawed against the cold flesh of the earth beneath him, his voice was a soft murmur, much like the gentle rustling of the trees behind them. “It was selfish, I know and I’m sorry-“

“Then why did you push me away?”

“Because I thought you didn’t want it. Because you weren’t supposed to know, that I…” Harry couldn’t help it now, he was grinning. So earnestly. If only Malfoy would lift his head and see.

“Draco,” Harry whispered deliberately, and sure enough, it caught Malfoy- no, Draco’s attention. Harry loved Draco’s attention.

He didn’t think, Harry was never good at thinking, he was all impulsive words and actions but blank spaces in his head. A blank space. That’s all his mind felt like when he leaned over and pressed his lips against Draco’s, fingers tenderly curling around the nape of his neck, his other hand rooted on the ground, steadying himself.

Before Harry knew it, Draco’s arms came wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, and suddenly it was the most incredible, exhilarating feeling he’d ever known. He held the sky in his hands, the stars at his fingertips, but he wanted something more than the world, so his fingers found themselves fumbling and gripping at Draco’s waist, leaving icy traces where his shirt had ridden up, sending chills all over his body.

“Potter,” Draco managed to murmur between their fervent kisses as he arched upwards, eager. Their movements were so heated, so chaotic that they hardly realised when gravity took them spinning and rolling down the hill.

Harry opened his eyes when they’d toppled to the bottom of the hill, panting, to find that all he could see was Draco. His blonde hair was like a white bonfire against the vast black sky, the violent smattering of silver stars paling in comparison to the constellations in Draco’s wide eyes. Harry could feel the warm puffs of air escaping Draco’s panting mouth and he relished the way bright pink looked smeared across the blonde’s icy pale cheeks. And then Harry knew one thing for sure. That he wanted. So he reached up for the light and pulled the fire to his lips.

How long had he wanted this? Why did he wait so long to do this? Fleeting thoughts spun and left Harry’s head over and over as he kissed, bit, tugged.

“Potter,” Draco breathed again when Harry flipped them over, causing Draco’s insides to jump and flutter.

“Draco,” Harry whispered as he began to assault his ear instead, running tiny bites and kisses from his earlobe all the way down his flushed neck. “Call me Harry,” he demanded with a thick murmur, still sounding much more coherent than he thought possible with the way Draco’s body felt squirming beneath his.

“Harry,” Draco’s fingers twisted and tugged in the wild strands of Harry’s hair, bringing their mouths back up to each other. “Wait,” he panted, momentarily pausing just before their lips met again. Harry stared down at him with a look of confusion, his body strung with electricity and tension. “Um, why- why are you-“

Harry almost let out a laugh in disbelief, “why? Cause I fancy you, you bloody wanker,” he barely caught the blissful smile forming on Draco’s lips as he dove back down, impatient. But Draco’s lips were too wound up into a grin to respond, making it almost impossible for Harry to kiss him, “what-“ He paused and caught the look on Draco’s face and collapsed, breathless laughter escaping him.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, manoeuvring himself so he sat up on his elbows, eyes not leaving Harry’s face once. Harry couldn’t stop staring either, at the euphoria hanging from Draco’s open smile, at the bright colour of his cheeks, at the mussed brilliance of his white blond hair. Draco looked like he’d fallen into a dream, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

It was too much. Harry tugged harshly at Draco’s shirt collar and brought their mouths together again.

 

The kissing only stopped when they were assaulted with a downpour of rain, and even then, Harry had been eager to continue. They were wrapped up side by side under Draco’s blankets now, Harry’s palm affectionately placed against Draco’s cheek as his thumb brushed softly against his skin.

“I like you so much,” Harry admitted, breathless and uncharacteristically romantic. Perhaps there was something crazy or sentimental about the late hours of the night, but Harry simply felt so soft, watching roses bloom from Draco’s cheekbones, touching his frozen toes against Draco’s own.

Draco’s entire self seemed to have softened too, embarrassingly so. And as much as Harry appreciated the quick-witted, snobby Draco Malfoy, the ‘blushing under the moonlight’ Draco Malfoy was just as endearing.

“But why?” Draco laughed almost bashfully with his mouth against his silk pillow, “ _how? When?_ ”

“Just… I could never stop thinking about you. Plus you kissed me,” he added abruptly at the end. “And I realised I wanted that.”

Draco only smiled, so serenely that Harry melted.

“What about you?” Harry’s fingers inched up towards Draco’s fluffy blond hair, still damp from the rain. He watched the way Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, his smile growing even shyer.

“Guess. You’ll never get it,” he challenged, lighting yet another spark in Harry’s wild heart.

Harry had had the gut feeling that it would be earlier than he ever thought, possibly even before this year. “Maybe… when I saved you from the Fiendfyre?”

Draco didn’t even bat an eyelash, merely shook his head gently.

“When we spent Christmas together?” Perhaps it wasn’t as long ago as he had thought. But Draco shook his head again. “Um, when I turned up at your manor with a mangled face?” Another no. “Just… 6th year?” That wasn’t right either, apparently.

A puzzled frown hung from Harry’s lips, “ _when_?”

Draco opened his eyes, drawing Harry in with the pearly iridescence of its colour. “It wasn’t… one single moment. In fact, when it started and when I realised… it must have been quite far apart in time.”

Harry held his breath.

“Maybe it was First year. Or Second. Either way, I was painfully aware of it by the time we were in Third year.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, his roaming hands came to a pause. “What- Wait, _what_?” Draco seemed equal parts amused and embarrassed at Harry’s grand reaction. He sat right up, and Draco remained lazily gazing up at him on the bed, fully flushed in the face.

“B-But!” Harry spluttered, “You were always such a bloody git! What about when you broke my nose in Sixth year? And you made me punch you till I was banned from Quidditch in 5th year! And then there was- you tried to use an Unforgivable on me! And, and-“

Draco swung an arm over his own eyes, as if hiding himself would undo the embarrassment, “anything for your attention, _Potter_.”

“No way.”

“It’s true.”

“You fancied me this entire time?”

“I didn’t fancy you, Potter. I was fucking in love with you,” Draco whispered, avoiding the bright green of Harry’s eyes.

“No way,” Harry could only repeat, stunned.

“How do I make you believe me?” When Harry seemed unable to respond, Draco spoke up again. “The unforgivable was an instinctive reaction. I broke your nose because I was angry and scared. And the rest, all the things I said, I was young and immature and I didn’t know how else to talk to you. I know that doesn’t excuse anything and I’m sorry.”

“Draco, you’re- _I’m_ sorry. I never knew. I had no idea.” How could he have known? Draco had always been _Malfoy_ , full of harsh sneers and malicious jabs.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad,” Draco admitted, “if you’d have known any earlier, you wouldn’t have taken it well at all. And we wouldn’t be here now.”

Here. In the corner of their dormitory, hidden behind Draco’s bed curtains, away from the rest of the world. Away from their nightmares and their scars, away from the ghosts in their bones. It was truly surreal.

“Who knew?” Harry asked, still dazed, mentally piecing together anything Draco Malfoy ever did or said to him in the past eight years.

Draco sat up too, sighing, his voice a tired drawl as he recalled the names, “Pansy. And Blaise. And I suspect Theo too.”

“Pansy figured it out herself,” Draco elaborated, when Harry didn’t seem capable of forming a reply. “She’s the one I used to talk to about… it.”

“And Blaise?”

Draco bristled, “Well, that- I’d rather not-“

“Tell me,” Harry cracked a grin, clearly beginning to recover from his initial shock. He planted a hand at the base of Draco’s back and leaned forward to trail soft kisses on his cheekbones to his jaw, all the way down to his flushed neck and collarbones.

Harry felt two hands clutching suddenly at his waist, and he grinned into the crook of Draco’s neck. “Tell me?”

Draco sighed into Harry’s hair, “Basically,” he began. “It was a Hogsmeade day in 5th year. I didn’t go, you see. And well-“ His breath hitched as Harry’s fingers suddenly slipped under his shirt, leaving traces of fire on Draco’s skin.

“Well, I was just on my own in the dorm and basically-“ Draco’s cheeks flushed hotter, both from his mental recollection of the event, and from Harry’s hands roaming ever lower. “I was kind of- you know, gettingoneoffandBlaisewalkedinandIguessyournamemightormightnot’veleftmymouthbeforeInoticedhimso,” he let out in one large, hurried breath.

Harry halted, “wait, _what_?” His laughter came out in some sort of disbelieving breath of air, hands paused still on Draco’s thighs. “You were _what_?” His mouth was swept into a charming, wicked grin, and Draco groaned, face hotter than it ever had been before.

“Yes, fine. That’s right,” he spat, “Fifteen year old me was having a very vocal, unrestrained wank in the comfort of what I thought was an empty dorm, while thinking about _you_ , Harry fucking Potter. I had a lot of those, actually. And I’m glad you’re so bloody amused,” he rambled in a frenzy, embarrassed and defensive all at the same time.

“Fucking hell,” Harry let out puffs of amused chuckles, face falling onto Draco’s shoulder, as he shook with laughter. “You’re such a bloody loser.”

Draco struggled against Harry’s embrace, thrashing his limbs in childish protest. “Shut up, shut upshutupshutup I hate you-“

“Why didn’t you use a silencing charm?” Harry’s laughter faded as he pushed Malfoy back against his own bed, still grinning.

“I forgot to. I didn’t think anyone would come back so early,” he breathed out, finishing his sentence in a hurry, forgetting himself as Harry’s hands found his zipper.

“What were you thinking about?”

“H-Huh? I- forgot!” Draco’s breath hitched when Harry dragged his fingers from Draco’s bare inner thigh to the harsh line of his hipbone, and finally back down to tug at the waistband of his boxers.

“Was it something like this?” He asked, finally reaching to relieve the aching twist of desire between Draco’s legs. Courage knocked away the uncertainty that arose from Harry’s own inexperience, the look on Draco’s face urging him on.

Draco could only whimper, head fallen back on his pillow, high on the sweetness soaking the air. Harry dove downwards to kiss the exposed arch of his pale throat, “or was it the other way round?”

“Tell me,” Harry murmured with a kiss, his face hot when Draco only responded with a thick, desperate moan.

Draco grappled for Harry’s shirt, fisting it tightly in response to Harry’s increasingly teasing motions. “Like this,” he barely managed to utter, head spinning.

Harry watched, dazed at the flushed, panting figure beneath him. Draco was so fucking beautiful. He dipped his head low to crush the crimson of Draco’s open lips, and felt Draco’s fingers scrambling to undo his shirt buttons.

“I can’t believe this is actually fucking happening,” Draco whispered almost idiotically, his words a flutter of incoherence to his own ears.

Harry took the lovely curve of Draco’s face by one hand and kissed his jaw, the softness of his lips soon turning into sharp, hungry bites. Draco’s impatient hands began to work towards Harry’s trousers instead, tugging at the zipper and clawing at the waistband.

“Draco,” Harry whispered against his ear, fingers working faster now, but still gently, ignoring the straining in his own pants. Draco’s eyes were shut tight, frustration and bliss binding his body. 

Harry watched, impossibly fascinated, his head swimming with a myriad of thoughts, but mostly just the word ‘ _finally_ ’ repeated over and over. _Finally_. Harry had never wanted like this in his life, never truly understood the appeal of intimacy, until now. If only he’d known sooner.

Helpless against his own needs, Harry’s hand broke away from Draco to tear his own boxers down, before messily manoeuvring himself against Draco instead, the friction sending Draco spilling suddenly all over himself. The back of Draco’s hand fell back against his mouth in an attempt to muffle his broken cries. “Fuck,” he panted, completely breathless.

Harry didn’t last long either, his head was revolving like crazy by the time Draco’s hands reached for him, rough and dedicated. It was too much. He finished, falling atop of Draco, hot and dizzy and blissful.

 

“Er, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s head jerked into view from under the covers, “yes, Weasley?” He replied, voice uncharacteristically off balance.

“Have you seen Harry this morning?” Ron was standing by the door of their dormitory, an uncertain frown on his face.

“No, sorry.” Malfoy responded tersely.

Ron itched the back of his head, “right. Ok, thanks.” He slammed the door behind him, hurrying down the stairs to their common room, two steps at a time.

“Malfoy hasn’t seen him either, and his bed doesn’t look like it’s been touched since yesterday.”

Hermione didn’t seem bothered, but looked up from her heavy leather-bound library book anyway, “I’m sure he’ll turn up later in the day. He always does.”

“It’s rather strange that Malfoy is having a lie in though, isn’t it?” Ron flopped himself down on the armchair opposite Hermione, “Though I guess he does that more often these days.” He paused, eyes wide, then shuddered, “I can’t believe we know Malfoy well enough now to comment on his sleeping habits now.”

Neville wandered over, a bag of Every Flavour Beans in his hands, “Not your fault, really. Him and Harry have been very good _friends_ since February, no?”

Dunking for a handful of beans, Ron’s face screwed up in thought, “I thought they would have killed each other by now. But they’ve been friends for like five months. I still can’t believe they actually get along now.”

“Yeah, they get along pretty fucking well,” Dean snickered from across the room, where he was playing cards with Seamus.

“What’s that mean?” Ron questioned, ignoring the heavy sigh from opposite himself.

This time, Seamus chipped in, “Ron, it’s been like four months. Get a fucking clue.”

“’Mione, what are they talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ronald.”

“Seamus and I have got bets on how long it’s going to take Ron to realise.”

“Yes, and so have the entire Eighth Year.”

“Realise _what_?” Ron protested, entirely clueless. “If this is something stupid like you guys laughing at me because Harry’s got a new best friend or whatever, you should know they fight too- I walked into the dorm once and they were fighting on Draco’s bed.”

“Right.”

“Oh my god.”

Seamus burst into loud, disbelieving laughter.

“I don’t see what’s so fun-“ Ron’s voice died out. “Oh. Oh. Holy fucking shit no way,” Ron’s mouth gaped open as the realisation hit him like a summer storm to his freckled face.

He slowly got up from his arm chair, a hand reaching up to cover his mouth in shock. “Harry and Malfoy. Harry and Malfoy? No no no no no no,” he chanted, beginning from under his breath and then getting increasingly louder as he sprinted up the stairs, and then _screamed_.

“YOU TWO?!”

Downstairs, Dean reached into his back pocket with a sigh and handed Seamus a galleon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope it was obvious that the final scene was a few months time skip?  
> ahhh thank you to everyone who made it this far lmao writing this fic has been a Journey  
> comments would be v much appreciated!! <3


End file.
